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