some days
the whole circle has come around
to all squares and
the sameness
gloomy unlit days neverending
sad forgotten beneath spinning
blades of suburban Ohio
lawnmowers
steel coughing up blackness of
winter throat
coat
maybe the moon will pop
like a toaster
glowing
let’s play a video
game it’s better for original
screenagers
the carpet fibers were springy
under the step you could fall
in them and sit there in
the middle of the
room
no one would make
a big deal you were
little enough everyone
had a smile
for you except maybe the
most checked out of them
thinking about divorce
wondering how much it
would cost
nobody knew you but you
were drunk some too
off vodka and cranberry and
you knew nobody knew
you nobody knew
or you knew them too
the laughter felt loud all
inside you
wouldn’t it be nice
if mom tucked you
in already? why not
stay up with the lights
and smiles smell of gin
you know
they know you don’t know
how it feels but you
do and the ice cubes sound
like wind chimes
nobody knew but you you
were. guessed you for happy go
lucky
i was a little old fashioned
cooking astronaut chicken bones down
to moondust i
suppose
the crowd measured
in thousands
Boston in October
the
Yankees at Fenway
Park
these games
we play
signifying nothing
look up
see the sky
there’s
something to contend
with
all i did was give you my thoughts
you gave me yours
am i a canvas upon which you throw your paint?
am i no use to you if i have my own
color scheme?
it hurts
and yes
i got upset
she was my friend
Adrienne
now she’s gone and
i wish i had been
longer by her
side
i am so lucky to even live
so many in my circles they
passed on
may the thankfulness
live forever. if nothing
else
now i live and know differently, i see how unwilling i was to accept my lot in life. how sad. so many years lost fighting shadows. reality never folded…
i am okay now, mostly. i have my moods. maybe those years were neither sad nor lost. they just were. i liked a good fight. i liked being counter and intuitive…
whatever. it made me who i am. and i am no longer any demon or junky. i would rather ask you more about yourself. then chase down juicy stories in my head.
i finally used the key to open the gate and let myself in. summer was over and i was thankful. i set the water in motion, immersing myself complete. what a sensation. i left it alone and a trail of dripping wet. above and looking down from where i hung my clothes, i noticed the light show. a translation of my form. a liquid print. what was left of my rhythm. illuminated by the sun in blue. something understood me.
the copy is aged the
paper turning orange
and yellow
ive been reading to the lighthouse by virginia woolf
there is no spine of
which to speak
with each turn of page a sheet
pulls off like petal
from flower
my kittens have taken the masterpiece across the hardwood floors
and made better use of it
than i
K IS SILENT 