Posts for June 1, 2017 (page 3)

I spend so much time 
Rehearsing your whereabouts
In my mind
Your my secret hypnotist
I feine for your presence
I’m addicted to you
Your my secret drug
I’m going places wondering
Where your at
I look around on busses
Search every street corner
For your whereabouts
Your like a famous person
I’m your fan
When will I see you again?
I always ask myself
I’m all about imagining you near
The blissful sight of seeing you
Saves my boring existence
Your like a kids story book hero
Your the exciting event in town
When I see objects on the street
I stare at them intensely
Imagining them for a moment 
To be you hanging out 
Watching me walk on by
I long to turn the objects
Into you, present, never absent
From my view
Sometimes I think I see you
Riding down the block
Or hanging out with a group of friends
When I see objects laying on the ground
I wonder if they are your stuff
Your sweater, your shirt, the socks you wore
They are a special trace of you
Left behind
For me to remember you were there

Ocean eyes
island frame

sun spills morning
across her waters
rippled coquettish winds
scatter cloud cover
[radiance]

she lifts
and wheels
the gulls
above

after going 0-2 against his brand
of queens summer heat
the way the bottom fell out
of the 12-6 curve
a bomb may as well went off
in Shea

I shudder and shake
there is much at stake
my vibrator makes me jump
as it rest on my bump
la petite mort widens me awake. 

My belly grows
in proportion to my amnesia
more each year

Like, I forget among these throwaway treasures
I’m an heir to a kingdom unimaginable
a stick figure who only knows design by pencil
trying to imagine a sunrise without eraser marks

If this Word ain’t on repeat in my heart
I grow bloated and forgetful
Filling up on fast food
 Outside a banquet hall

Shameful nobody, poverty in my bloodline
purchased by his blood,
I’m not working for a finish line
I’m working from His finished line
Born a blind man, boasting in clear vision
Until He gave me vision

My belly grows
In proportion to my amnesia

That’s  half a truth
A dead man, brought to life, only looks like he’s dying

         It’s so still – where did noise go?
                         
                         to backyards to light charcoal
                         to lakes to go boating
                         to grave yards to remember

       Gaudy paper flowers in colors nature never intended

                          it’s lonely – mostly it’s lonely
                          it’s just too still.

At the Wailing Wall in
Jerusalem
people come from miles-
dirt and sweat-
to
lay their burdens
Down.
If he builds a wall, it too will
surely be wailing
at the border
As it thinks back to when we put up doors
instead of walls.

I got
fired today.

I think I remember him
I once played caddie to his dogged
second act fits of doubt
and holding my breath always, I knew
when asked what I was
I’d throw the question back in his face
and when asked what I have between my legs
I’d say, A cut that just doesn’t heal
     yes, I used to know him
when my hair was longer
when I made him kill the spiders
that crawled in through the crack by the AC
til he split me in half 
and pinned me to his table
to see for himself

if and when
you remember
the june night
we touched
quietly by the pool
and hoped my mother
did not drift out
onto the porch –

       one of my father’s
       shirts hanging loose
       at her knees

– with each creak or rustle
our eyes widened
in fear
of being caught
so   close 

please know
that I have also
remembered
too many times
the lump in throat feeling
of an almost love

poem.