Slip

A dialogue in the background is running in circuit and it is reiterating ideas I decided against. Soft quotes relying on sentiment for validation. Like a quick slide show of how things used to be, I see a different version of myself. He makes requests without question marks. He pulls worthless ideology through my line of sight, making it truth without my acceptance; I can't turn my head away.
"I really miss talking with you. Its strange not having someone intelligent to share all my opinions and thoughts with. Oh well, they say that some of lifes lessons dont get taught easily. I should have done it right the first time while I still had you. But they also say that hindsight is 20/20!!!"
Like a bullet in the middle of my heart, like a period in the middle of a sentence, like a mistake not waiting to happen. Split wide, spilling out, sucking it all back in a dramatic attempt at salvation. They are just words aimlessly wandering across the middle of my day.
Shift out, quick turn and you are breathing softly towards bliss again.

Dream

The other night I saw you for the first time, though you have been a constant companion. I feel you inching closer every day, as distance recedes. I feel you slipped discreetly between one of those unexpected pages in a calender. But when the day had ended and was quickly reconfiguring for the next, when my eyes slumped and my mind wandered, you packed a tackle box into our old truck. We had plans for the day, all day, every foot of it. Even as we smilingly packed we were touching somehow. Small snacks, a cooler full of juice and ice and 3 apples. Eyes meeting over and over. Tailgait slamming, bets being made, "lawn needs to be mowed" "save it for sunday", then he advanced, anxious for his first trip to the lake. He had a small bear that was with him since we were with him. He was smiling bigger than us but for a different reason. The three of us were all that could sum up paradise in a small house that was older than the two of us together. But we knew one day we would have better. "dont forget the chairs" I went back into the neat garage for lack of extra and you followed me and I reached up. You reached with me and I felt what love is, what it should be, what we always look for in other people but need to find in ourselves first. Unending, unasking, uncomplicated. A certain flavor of joy that never fades and never leaves you unaccounted for.

December 17, 2007

Stay out of my thoughts, my conciousness. You don't belong there. When you are there you take over and rearrange. You don't share. I have things to plan, papers to shuffle, people to laugh, drinks to spill, calls missed. I want them all back. You can have them when I am done.

You have the best intentions but they are spread all over town and they live in your mouth, not in your hand.

I see what it was, taking up time, wasting my space as I ambled along my day. Full and starving I raced through to the starting line but everyone was gone. Good smiling, aimless minutes punctuated by angry agreement. How can this be anything but how it should be. Sweat along the edges as I catch up to my backwards thinking. No need anymore.

Shy

Drawn in, though indisclosed;
a bright door opens to sanctity and I take it as it is.
Small poems lie around as corpses and litter my small space.
Frost on the bloom, dirt between the petals;
I can smell the memory of it.
Full of self importance, most, on their last bed.
Those that host this world will not read this,
but one will come and take it by the hand
and remark on it's fine lines and the weather.
Warm next to you as we sit and see.
Take this and look closely;
there is something there.
The weight is gone.

The fog devoured everything in its path.
I drove willingly into it.
The fog ingested my thoughts as well.
I was in a tight, white low cloud
thinking of the extension of my day
and smiling faces and parts of speech.
Condensation jumped on my windshield
and clung along for the ride.
Changing lanes, gears shifting, country singing, coffee sipping,
fog dreaming of lazy Saturdays and space mountains,
suicidal goats, monster pancakes and butter mohawks.
The fog abates but your still here.

In the old sense...

We dont make love anymore. We can sit next to each other and our hands might kiss unintentionally. We can be naked together as we write. Our eyes can play tag. Our voices dance together on the phone, but that is all it can be. It was just one of those things.

Fate

Electrified, speeding around disaster, ashing as I pass. Winking at the trouble I've seen.
Each has added a dangerous piece to the puzzle. Clarification is due but I have never been on time. So I saddle up blind folded and wait for the gate to open. I can feel you in the next day, waiting for me. Your presense in my future keeps me warm at night. The warmth licks at my anticipation, trying to get me to slip up. I know better now. I made a list, its all checked off by your acceptance of the inevitable.

A blank page is like standing on the edge of a cold swimming pool, waiting for the inspiration to surface to take the plunge. All around are small influences, huge pressures. You never know where it will take you or whether you will be afloat or whimpering at the bottom. Sometimes you are at the top of a building or in the middle of angry words or at the bottom of bottomlessness. That unknown is what keeps me going, and sometimes standing.

Narrative

I could smell the seriousness of it as he kicked through the bedroom door. It's that smell that you never forget and it comes back from time to time to remind you of how awful moments can sometimes be. The way some situations can boil over without intention; no chance of control. He covered his brow with a hat, his eyes with glasses and his feelings with tight lips and angry words. I couldn't really see him. That wave of defeat washed over me as I packed my things in a suitcase; hurridly and through tears. I packed things that I didn't really need for some reason, things that were important but not necessary; jewelry, lotion, memories. He yelled bravely at my back as I walked out, screaming violent intricacies. He could always find the right weakness to strike at, and he always hit dead center. His raised voice hurt more than a raised hand as he trailed me out of the house. The closing door of the truck silenced all anger. I turned the key, I put it in reverse. I would never live there again. I would never hold that heavy pain of acceptance. I am not coming back.

Star Gazing

We went one mild November night to the top of a University building that we were denied access to. But he knew how to get us in, up steep stairs, my skirt catching on the tight curves.
Finally our labors get us up hundreds of feet, above the trees and damp grass and the lazy headlights mulling below. Breath escaped at the stars that boastfully shined, it seemed, only for us. Both sets of eyes darted across the sky in a fantastic display of affection. It seemed that we would see something that we couldnt from the ground floor where the rest of the world resided. We sat on the gravel-y covering of the roof and escaped together. The stars hummed a soft song, between verses, outside of everyone's reach but ours. Slowly, we all spun together.

December 1, 2007

Writing small, scritch-scratch and undone lines. There is nothing but what you hold in your hand
and contain in your sight. I want to know that love is more than something to take home on Saturday night.

Joy Ride

My truck went for a ride when I was sleeping last night. I could tell because my truck is reckless and prefers country music. All the things that were on the left side of my truck were on the right and when I turned my ignition on in the morning Willie Nelson was singing louder than he can in person.

November 28, 2007

Will the sky ever be the same
as it is right this moment?
With my eyes upon it,
recollecting past blue skies.
You are under it somewhere
looking up at the fading day,
thinking of me;
afflicted with sentimentality.

Moment

Sitting outside, not really waiting for anything,
next to you.
The awning over us yawns tiredly at the street,
it's red rug tongue has seen newer days.
The years of the building lean nostalgically on us as
small white lights frame our moment.
The cold gives away our breath's disguise.
My hand resides in yours as we conquer the chill.
Let's just stay here and watch the world pass.
Your hand on the side of my face,
as if it were art,
as if it were love.
Close your eyes

Running through the rain, but laughing,
Remembering similar races;
when I was smaller and the rain was a holiday.
Feeling it on my skin, soaking in,
releasing the toxins of responsibilty,
for the rest of the world to bear.
The faster I run the quicker the warmth rushes.
What stopped us from savoring rain,
collecting it in our pockets, making it our
badge of honor?
Why should we steer away from puddles
that used to be invitations?
Cold toes, curly hair, shirts that smell a
little different when damp, bright eyes
waiting to feel it wash me clean again.

The rain ticks away my day.

When the extension of the week is outstretched,

I sit at a small desk and wonder at it.

Things change from black to light,

the anchoring burden released it's grip.

I press further into the day until that final release.

Work in progress..

Someone who, when we are together, I forget about everything that weighs.
And we laugh loudly, unaware of the frowns that surround.
Someone who knows just what is needed to encircle and surround without closing off.
Someone absolutely positive.
Someone vaulted to responsibility by creativity and ambition.
Someone who loves without asking, cries without specific reason.

November 28, 2007

Sometimes I want to shed the skin I have created these past 25 years. Slough all the old and just be new again, awkward. Back to a place where dreams were goals and not just something to do while I slept. Memories wouldn't haunt, laughter would be uncontrollable, tears would just be; no relation to seriousness. Just release the ego that has been created through the successes and failures and walk through my day. People would look at me and recollect having seen me before. They might wave and acknowledge a past version of myself. I would wave with innocent eyes and smile. I would grab them by the hand and we would run to the shore and find a place to create beauty, alone and together. We would recruit more people to loosen the grip of the past that seeks to mold tightened faces. Clouds would be a passing worry. Picknick blankets and sand between the toes, writing words that evoke all the emotions that they should. If someone finds a fault somewhere we would remind them that faults are required, a necessity.
Exhausted we would collapse on the sand and review our weightless labor, the clicking, the snapping into place that had eluded us. We will go back to the soul with which we began.
Setting sun, settling excitation, settlement of unrest. Mixed together, inseperable.
We will wander back, changed forever.

I wish I could delete you

To the heart of it then,
don't waste time with smiling conspiracy.
It's getting in there, getting you down.
Affected but not effective, I see through, wishing that I couldn't.
Multiple hats but none have superiority.
I will sit on my small bench and wonder ways to forget you,
among all the other things that I have to complete today.
That heavy weight makes my steps aged, invalid.
What is the outcome?
Who calls these shots?
Why am I sitting here.

I had an idea of our happiness.
Reality never was my strong suit.

Fifteen Minutes

To make a decision that could change my life.
There are two stacks in front of me; one assuring the future that I have,
the other taking me somewhere unknown.
Frightening to not know the outcome, to leave the safety of knowing tomorrow.
The papers shuffle between my fingers and are read again, again.
Can't this wait? I have something that must be done...
It can't wait, that long step toward what you have always wanted but never assumed responsiblity for.
Those forlorn side glances are now in your past as you take it in your hands and make the choice.
Safe to be unstable; to catch yourself from falling for the same old yesterday.
ten minutes,
failure is always an option, but so is success.
5 minutes,
the questions are simple, easily illustrated.
Who will take the lead?
I can answer that one

Giving Thanks

Staring at the lace of the table cloth,
making patterns, seeing faces.
Dinner; all together this time.
Invite someone new.
Bring in fresh memories to taste.
Smile some more,
explain that scar
decipher that tattoo;
recall what family is like thousands of miles away.
I caught your eyes on me
in a gentle way; just sweet intentions.
I feel my guard slipping ,
my hand slipping into yours,
under the table as we laugh
at my brother's fatherly impression.

Old Stuff

11/19/2007
Mess
I think it's quite clear
though I choose to deny it.
As we sit across the table in seperate towns
that it was a beautiful mistake;
highlighted with serene moments of
false destiny, maybe only for fate's sake.
Slipping into surrender held me up for a while.
But you never caved, never.

Old
He comes and goes between thoughts, never central,
until he topples another tower;
by mistake of course, then he is all i see,
with an insincere smile and apology.
Motives were always written across his face
and I almost felt sympathy for that.
He mouths memories and feelings
that i will never hold again; baiting me.
Towers are rebuilt and he slinks between,
waiting for the right weakness, coming shortly ... (sigh.)

November 23, 2007

Stepping in, finally, and letting go. There was a tipping point that led me astray. I sweated and strained to regain what had been ripped away. In my self sympathy I overlooked who had done the ripping. But the steam has cleared from my windshield and I have come to learn many things in these twelve months. I am ready to put them somewhere, maybe where someone else can read them. They are screaming in my ears at all hours, keeping me up at night, distracting me when I should be flirting, seducing me away from who I should be kissing.
When I start to write it is like that first step on a water slide and there is that instant of doubt, of fear that grips your stomach. But it also feels a little towards ecstasy at your own fearlessness. You step on and the attendant gives confidence in his nonchalance. It's part of his job. Then the water takes you through this ride and you twist and turn and the water has complete control, and sometimes the ride is rough or there are drops and you scream and are thinking about absolutely nothing else; nothing. That is what is happening when I come face to face with myself and I can't believe that I ever doubted or feared this ride.
Redemption is a slippery term and means different things to different folks. I don't seek possession of it as much as look to define it on my own terms.
Here it is, not perfection but a constant striving towards it. Love is life and is everywhere.
Love is all I see. There is no cure for it all but who wants to be cured?

Thursday

After dinner,
We sat around gently, the body heat was all the room needed.
It seemed like everyone was smiling in their own way. We played cards. Some won and some lost. Wine was spilled, wax was melted, babies toddled, stories were retold bearing slight variations. My brother and I laughed until we cried and we all huddled on our end of the table like thieves making jokes that we regretfully won't remember. We will all say, "what was it you said, ah man it was so funny." Laughing tears will spring just thinking of it. Eyes becoming lazy, food becoming heavy, watches being eyed, shoes and coats being assembled; we gather our empty dishes and hug the ones we like a little more. Email and numbers are swapped, sweet thank yous, drive safe.

In the car we laugh about something someone said or how Rob was right about not liking cooking, as evidence in his potatoes. I make them listen to country music the entire ride home and although they protest, no one changes the channel. We smile because we are all ripening with age, getting better; more flavorful. Every time is deeper and more warmth presides. Although we were sometimes at odds, we have finally hit our stride and we can all laugh at the same time. Everyone gets the joke.

I missed a few days,
but they will come along later.
They always do.
It's bittersweet.

Gift

For you.
What more could you ask for but a part of someone?
Roses are fine,
sweet scents and fading intentions.
Gold shines on to death.
Wine brings truth at a cost.
But this is the purity,
the uncensored, unassuming center;
the weight, the burden that we carry.
Centered and full, reaching for realization
among a crowd of disbelievers.
Stalking up that hill built by
dissapointment and cruel memories.
Confidence skipped a beat or two but then...

Influenced

Think of me then,
when you close your eyes and smile.
When you drift off
to that place you go to every night.
When that welt of emotion forms in your throat.
When you feel the weight lift off
and float back to where it came.

As you begin to doubt what you are,
think of my hand on the small of you
keeping you up.
As you see yourself where you always wanted to be,
think of me next to you.

Think of me just at that moment and we will be together.

Movie

Sometimes they change your frame of perception. Sometimes they show you something that has been in front of your face but you didn't want to see. This one seemed to speak to me from three different angles but they all met in the middle in a premeditated array of self awarness. All three involved seemed to work towards another person's fullfillment, leaving themselves empty. All seemed to disregard the death and decay that littered their lives in the hopes that it would prolong the arrival of the inevitable. What were they looking for? All finally were asked to look death in the face, unflinching, and really see what they were composed of. None faltered. All realized what the depth was for. They saw the path that their distraction had obscured.
Their choices were clear; proceed with living or dying. All did so with fidelity and poetry.

November 14, 2007

You can't see sincerity.
It is just right there, in front of you.
Extending its neck in a graceful display of sacrifice.
But you turned at that crucial moment
when confidence was to be real.
That moment when she stepped through the glass
to find solid ground.
Can she turn around and try it again?
Or would that be like trying to keep
dreaming after you have awoken?

November 13, 2007

High expectations milling around
eyes wide open, looking for the solution,
for praise,
for recognition in my eyes,
to see the future a little brighter than yesterday
for their offering to the world.
Hopes bubbling over,
Simmering down.

Early

The sun sneaks in, lighter, lighter.
Shapes form in the dark.
The inhale and exhale's source is revealed.
Sweet scent of company.
You were there all night but the morning
saved you for last.

Yawn in the morning
but don't take it all in.
Save some for me.
Let it rest on your pillow for a while
as we feign resistance.
Heart reaches optimal level
Eyes rathering to be open.
We tried.

Polaroids

Your pictures remind me of how it used to be,
when we crept along the earth long ago.
Slowly, but sure that blue went on forever.
Smiling because we drank the sky in and felt full.
Floating, but never lost,
we found a part of ourselves between clouds.
It’s still there, I believe,
when you look quickly and click.
You can still see it.

November 10, 2007

Packing jeans, I always fold too fast
ending up having to do it again.
My bag reminds me of Mary Poppins'
and I wish that I could pull out a large lamp
to read by when I am traveling.
Shampoo and bracelets,
secret things and old shoes.
This is what I am taking with me.
I wonder how a thief would picture me if they took my bag.
They might believe that I wear at least 4 shirts a day and
never floss.
I wouldnt hold it against them.

Bracing for the crash;
I know it is coming yet I proceed.
Knowing the pain of the slow burn
I still light the fuse.
Rathering to be ash than dust.

Stretching furthur,
a little more
maybe
this time.
I can almost taste it
but the edge keeps moving.

Sweet anticipation

Indiscretion

Again.
Loud words spoken softly to a stranger.
Why do these secrets flood,
as if in escape.
I can't harbor these huge pieces that are clotting in my mouth.
So I lean in, closer, closer,
the surrounding strangers start to wonder the topic,
closer,
and I say what I have been battling.
Once confessed it feels lighter, almost too
silly to be a secret.
It changes color and pales like a plucked flower.
The scent is gone.

November 7, 2007

Always alone, No company.
Yesterday was terribly unremakable; a simple stroke of fantastic depression.
Cathartic but painful to sit and weep, loudly and without regard.
Pieces of memory that stuck to me, that didnt escape with the rest, at the appropriate time.
Short memories of collars turned up in defense of stiff wind,
Rosy cheeks exhibited during morning routines,
Fires crackling, spitting, too excited to last.
Dinners simmering to beatific fullness.
Snapshots, really, of what my cycles consisted of.
There were little joys there, tiny sparkling moments that seemed to last forever.
Old songs bring them to the forefront and hold my eyes open.
Past happiness clings to my face,
but they should only make me smile.
Happy is Habit.

November 7, 2007

Hello. It's you again.
I can still feel you in my thoughts,
stroking a soft side that is hidden but not dark.
Gentle but strong, begging to be seen by more
but wants a set of eyes to see it first.
Not to grant permission or acceptance,
but to receive the amazing gift of being first;
first witness to creation,
to abounding love,
to a force unstoppable,
to a life unknown before.

What good is new love but new heart-ache?