Posts for June 8, 2019 (page 4)

i fillet the couch cushion
mince the green clouds with my eyes
stampede along the bubbling bank
and prance the words out of my legs
the ersatz grass walks gently in humid time
until sweetness condenses into salt cysts
on the corner of my ears
breath fumbles out like crumbled feta
staccato and white
blooming the silence into maturity
apprehension sneaks up, a gazelle jumping
into the clammy future vacuum of somethingness
which casts its shadow upon a soft liver
and twitching pancreas
the stick shift vaults backwards to reclaim
its perpetual loss and gets stuck
somewhere inbetween

today’s gimmick is
absurdity
and i’m all out of meatballs

I’ve never felt at home in any town
or public space,
always counted my steps in measure
with soft staccato. Try not to trample
golden blooms against the asphalt
lest someone raise their voice at me
(YOU DON’T BELONG HERE)
and see me for what I really am.
I can’t imagine breaking the sidewalk with the sway of my hips
and owning that space,
taking it for mine;
I’m just a renter, a carpetbagger with a sleeve full of apologies.
I marvel at those men who swagger,
thumbs hooked in belt loops,
eyeing the scenery and making it theirs.
They lean out of windows to spit,
marking the topography,
leaving their own graffiti to prove they were there.

forget the flowers. I pulled them all up
by their roots, placed them in a pile
readied for compost. and the moon?

turn it off. I don’t need its light
to wake me, guiding me to where you wait,
away from this solitary path, by the lake

in which I would drown of love if love
would ask me. you may think it sad
to have given up at my age–to never

want to know another stranger’s name,
to feel these old feelings–but damn it,
I just can’t take what always comes next:

the denouement, the dying down, a lover
inevitably in need of a little time to rest.

The barrage of texts
fly in again.
Voluntary overtime.
Could make a third straight week
of a six days on
one day off
continuation
of sheer exhaustion,
all the while trying
to keep the words churning
and not lose hold
of what little left
I have of me.
Begs the question…
What’s the price of money?

When you ask me how I’m doing, I say  

FINE.  

But what I really mean is
I’m tired of this job but too old to change careers.
I’m worried that the stress will cause my mind to break like my dad’s.
I’m anxious that I can’t afford to send my kid to college.
I’m scared that when I go to the doctor the cancer cells will have spread.
I’m afraid that no one will ever sleep on the right side of the bed.
I’m terrified that this is my life, and this is all it will ever be.

Streetlights; remind me of the sweet lights
back when everything was cool

These lights, these lights
calling their true sight 
still walking on my own

You said it would be alright
You said it would work out
But do you remember the pain
do you remember what they have been through
already

You say make America great again
When was it ever
When you didn’t have to worry about your ego?

Streetlights; remind me of the cold night
back when we hid our history
beneath the floorboards
so that we could pretend
none of it happened

grasping my eyes in cold
frosted fingers
please keep 
them away from
the fire box 

For dinner:
gravels
from my driveway
I’ll chomp until teeth and bone crumble
gnash until my gums bleed
I’d like to taste the sandy powder resting still beneath the rocks,
the metallic tang of my mouth destroyed

Or, maybe, my cellphone
I’ll bite down until the screen shatters
What’s inside of these things anyway?
Electricity. Mercury? Messages from exes
at 2am
asking me if I’m still awake
I want to swallow it

Today is one of those days where you feel unsteady
on your feet all day, the walls seem to be closing in, 
the furniture wobbling under you, and you don’t know
why. Too much coffee putting your balance functions
out of order? Not enough coffee, to settle that twich 
in your eyelids? Either way, you’re having more
now, just in case. 

every breath
silence

soaking into
the bones

sweetening even
the marrow