Standing now, timid at first, as beginnings tend to be; but without fear this time. Days gone are fragment postcard picture, retelling; past tense and without authority. The island retreats and I feast on new discovery, yet to unroll. Sails stiffen with time's promise. My hand shields the sun's critique. Thirst mounts as I near the destination. The wind carries regret and wipes clear all the haze that stifled my vision. Freshened by its speed, forward always, til completion; I wait hurriedly.

What is this valley that I cross, alone and tired? Why is it so deep when I need it shallow? So wide when my feet are bleeding? I can't place this weight that clings to me, or name it. I can't even see it but its a taste I cannot escape that taints all that touches my lips. The weight intensifies and takes my breath away, squeezing my veins, compressing my chest. Air escapes and still I push through. Some grab and pull me into their toxic dilemma. Slip out and walk through. It lightens more everyday.

Its heavy above my eyes, fatigue pulls me under.
I'm starting to hate everyone that smiles and says kind things.
I anger when they are right, I am usually wrong, you see.
Dry skin stretched over an upturned mouth that misses that sweet weight.
I remember how it used to be, without burden or worry; childish freedom.
A great divide keeps it from me egging jealousy.
Just breath

Another thrust of fading desire, but I keep walking.
Sharp edges aim to cut my straight lines,
to make them weep regret.
That black disease will not wrap me up
and take me to it's defeat.
I am no party to this.
Take back those hardened words,
I have heard them all.
They have all had a bite at my center.
Still I strive.
Regrowth stirs as you cower in disbelief.
You stab air as my gait quickens toward
that peaceful pleasantry of escape.

Colors crawl across the wall, music joins our conversation, loud but invited.
They enjoy a moment stolen from the week's leash as all sit and sip and laugh and stroke old memories of how we used to be; so nice to know yourself now and then.

Is it that slow and constant that controls my thoughts?
Can't I tell it to give me a short stall, a quick draw, so I can join in?

Circular usually, how they spin about illusion to discount reality. I see myself in their dizzy, wishing to be a piece of their parts.
But now they shake my calm and make me wish for the quiet of night.

Sitting in a crescent booth, high,
can see the world from up here.
High ball growing taller, faces smiling incessantly
as we discuss if love is a fancy or a feeling,
something held or merely lost.
Sips and skips and smoke and mirrors.
The Dj chooses music that I wouldn't have
but it highlights the awkward topics that bind our night.
We switch books and write and write the small things,
too big to be spoken. People must have thought
we were mute. But writing makes things
heard that throats might never express.

Please stop following me.
I can find the way on my own.
I don't need second hand.
I don't need you to understand me.
I want to walk through this with clean feet
and a new set of speakers
so they, so you can hear what I am saying;
This, all of this, this is mine.
Get your own.

I made a bug list of all the things that knaw at me and keep me awake. They take over the page and run around the lines, little Napoleans pretending domination. I grimace and force them to attention, despite their grumblings. On paper they aren't so menacing. They are words representing things that once were, but are no more; or things that will be fixed with times patient hand. Still they reside under my skin and create ulcers on my tenderness. So I keep track to keep perspective. Listed and de-magnified they have no power over me. Friendly freedom as the tyrants await my orders.

An empty pool, cool and confident, blue and lazily lapping me in.
The shade curves around and the sun desperately attempts to peek through, curious.
Stripping away cloth constraints I seep in, slowly, allowing my body to match water,
but still the skin rebels. Up to my sunglasses, I can hear the waters rhythm keep up with my heartbeat. My hair a rampant serpent, I listen as the filter makes an unearthly song and I melt into liquid.

"Like fire and powder, which, as they kiss consume"

Words flood away at the sight of responsibility,
like blood fearing air and turning red; embarrassed.
I taunt them, smile, fondle but for nothing.
Some truth slips behind them that they'd rather not share with reality.
They continue to make their silent prayers,
and I wait for the opening of the wound
so that it can heal.

Swell of days flushing down the stairs,
onto the street,
in my rear view mirror.
Re-adjust, eyes cocked, incredulous smiling,
I pick up speed and still I find them behind me.
So I turn up the music and swerve the curves toward you.
I see you smiling there and know there is no need for escape.

You can have your hooks back.

Couldn't sleep for singing. It wouldn't stop and my toes curled in tune. My soul is carried along towards my future. It was so clear I could touch it, walk through it, taste it in my waking.
I know now what I didn't know then and I am sucked toward becoming. Something once sleeping in me takes the wheel as I floor the gas.

A sweet unison between thoughts and actions, accompanied by bottomless affection. The kind of thing that inspires, but can only be imitated. You left specifically. You chose, though it was difficult, left others behind because there was something waiting for you and you didn't know it yet. An unrequitted partnership that will follow the flounderings and only nod and smile. Nothing will be required for a mirrored journey will explain the time apart, the passage of pain and only momentary pleasure. Superficiality will slip out, embarressed. Games will play themselves out at the door, pride will deflate to lifesize and 'fess up. Eye to eye, mouth to mouth, words ring true for the first time. A soft song plays along, the soundtrack to true love.

They call or write, asking for data and small details they hope will make it all make sense.

I glance at their requests and look away quickly. Every little misktake, every overpowered decision rides in my head and dominates small details, mocking them. I cant help but try to put things in perspective as my mind wanders away hoping never to return.

Paperwork and pen and structured curriculum wash away and I remember the magnitude I was meant to create.

But the taste is diluted.

My turtleneck is swallowing me whole.

They are writing about Romeo and Juliet and speaking quickly, with an excitement that only teenage hormones can boast of. They know something I do not. At once, I feel pity and envy. They are in the middle of a long ride to an unknown destination. Some may arrive soon, some may never. That unknown could drive some crazy, but the eloquence of their youth allows patience. A certain hunger allows fasting.
I wonder at myself at this age, what I expected, what I wanted.
A wide expanse has elapsed but there is still a soft desire that stirs inside of me, waiting.

Great access to a climbing success...
My apartment is a mess, my linens and jeans need washing,
my fridge only has condiments and beer.
I can't keep my plants healthy, they seem as orphans.
Shoes don't have their place, books lie next to used dinner plates next to half filled notebooks.
Sandwiched between cushions is a sock with no partner, a fugitive.
On the floor, pictures meant to hung, guitars meant to be played, weights meant to be lifted.
To no avail,
something preoccupies leaving all undone.

That thing that has always been, that makes you sweat, makes you tear through the day to get back here to sit and plan. Life makes turns around you as you procrastinate your future.
Beautiful how it falls around you and gracefully nudges your attention.
Cant ignore it much longer.
The dam's about to break.

My eyes drag across the screen, revealing words I have seen before, just in different tense.
Fatigued to repeat demands, reluctant to allow passage;
I have been awake too many years to watch them sleeping.
How can you not see what sits square and forward in front of you?
I made a list of demands, written on the palm of my hand
used to conquer the undeserving and leave them desperate on the lawn,
begging a second look.
Never let it slip again.
Dreams come along and visit, but never stay.
But its all so simple, the things that tick me along.
A soft warmth that wraps around and inside but never covers.
A day that begins and never ends, punctuated by moments of high sincerity.
We will find the time to see it all.

This is me believing you and every lap your tongue makes around your lies.
Held in my hand for a moment, it melts with your conscience.
Slipping around your switches and flips you don't remember which way is up.
I lean back and see what you are too small to.
Can't help but pity your misconceived idea of trust;

We had an appointment to speak and reciprocate soft nothings, but you were laying next to a newer body and all memory was lost. Rolling in your head was a tight regret because you knew. It was being washed over by your rationalizing, by your swerving from the truth. Night swapped with day and your phone wore my missed calls like a badge of your indescretion, 1000 miles away. Finally accepting the work that must be done, you push that hard button. My voice was weak and eager to know what had been done. But you wouldn't let it leave your lips, as if by speaking it it became real because I would know. My knowledge made it reality. Hours missing from your story, sweat and tears and quick breathing and worry omitted from opposite view points. "Trust me, believe I would never hurt you." You really believed those snake like words.
Empty condom wrappers litter your mind, keeping you from clarity. Flying quickly home, at the door, in the bedroom. Lonesome flowers accompanied you, a rare scent, a scent of guilt.