Immediate Violence

Live-wire on the interstate, I’m reading the lines in the road. Saturday morning and I’m in two places at once watching Morse code divide the highway. show me the way to the beach this time, show me the road at night. I’m a little Kerouac in the in the car, a little shadow under the light. First deaths are on my mind but I don’t think that’s what the billboard said. I’d rather be the last death of the year for punctuation and quick mourning. There’s something about a long drive that swings me from one left turn to starting over and -- immediate violence. 

Two Armrests

Four days down, and I’ve been drinking through old haunts and airports. These are my favorite corners of all the small earths. I’m paying a price on a Monday, in the middle seat gaining the territory of two armrests. Stolen between strangers, as if they would know who I was. Jammed in the slot, coach cabin with plastic cup cabernet that I spilled down my leg. Wet ankle at takeoff, and TTX on repeat again (all year)  "I’d have held myself much closer then"

Night Visions Only

It’s hard to see
in here despite all the
mirrors,
reflections on my reflection.
it’s heavy on my eyes
and I change my appearance
often enough to
question recognition
in the early morning
in the wake of three dreams
three different faces,
night visions only.
and I regularly
ignore what everyone
else sees in me,
so I don’t break character.
who am I without
the stories
I believe about myself.

Domestic Flights

there are so many doors in florida
for three days
i was turning toward each one
holding my breath
for an entrance
from the back side of the bar
like i wanted to ruin your day
and the cool confrontation 
of showing up
i wanted you to know i was there
i wanted you to see me 
more than i needed to know it
but im glad this is fiction 
and im unpacking 
eight years of baggage
in airports
on domestic flights

Side Door

snuck in thru the side door
as if someone would’ve noticed another entry.
here to observe and
The Phils are on overhead
dead center, end of the bar.
all my neighbors vacated at the same time
as if it was previously decided on,
two separate parties.
I’ve been told I always look angry
so I’m practicing a softer face
half smile.
I came here to be quiet
and remember the sounds
of Wednesday after happy hour.
songs I know by heart but the names always evaded me
they’re just background sounds
and tonight I’m in the background too.

I’m always falling into things…    
…like the breath between two songs.
Inhale for the former, mourning.
Exhale for the future.

2am

Some nights are fuller than others
I came home yesterday
And laid down to disappear
It was 2am
And I felt the difference between being alone
And being lonely
I am in constant motion
To avoid one of the two

Statistics

Statistically I am destined to fade into the unknown. Sounds ominous, but let’s not do me any favors. I want it to be ominous, it will be a blink. At my funeral someone should read all of my life stats, such as:
How many times did I almost speak up?
How many times did I demand my dog tell me all his secrets?
How many times did I forget what I was saying mid-sentence?
How many times did I really try?
How many times have I listened to Jeff Buckley sing Hallelujah?
How many first dates?
How many times did I need to be seen or heard to remember I was here?
How many miles have I hiked?
How many times did I have to re-tie both shoes because one was too loose and if you only tighten one your other foot will disagree?
How many times did I pick up a guitar and play the same 3 chords over and over and over?
How many windows have I stared out of as if there was another dimension on the other side?
How many times have I wished I was a plant? A dinosaur?
How many fresh starts?
How many books have I read?
How many words can you fit on a grave?

Clip Show

There are no full scenes anymore, I only dream in clip shows and feign for the memories of things that never happened because I failed to act or forgot to wake up. I’m dreaming of demonic possession now, I’m dreaming of little whales. I’m dreaming I’m leaving again, I’m dreaming of one day being the person that everyone says I am and not saying no when somebody wants me. I’m dreaming of vines overgrown, I’m dreaming of sentient black clouds and being chased by non-descript faces. I’m dreaming of loving myself and knowing how to hold still. I’m dreaming of a deep breath that feels like home. I’m dreaming of less gravity on my soles and not being told that I look like someone that’s angry. I’m dreaming of my grandfather singing my skin free from a bush. I’m dreaming of crying. I’m dreaming of the flowers handed down, and the tears on the curb. I’m dreaming of a skull on a bookshelf, and becoming. I’m dreaming of a living house, and open doors like portal mouths. I’m dreaming of sand and abandonment. I’m dreaming of being lost, I’m dreaming of losses. I’m dreaming of broken ice and falling in. I’m dreaming of assassinations, and a snake bite city. I’m dreaming in humidity, I’m dreaming in fever streaks. I’m dreaming of big cats, I’m dreaming of practiced patience. I’m dreaming of the world as it is in my head, I’m dreaming of someone else’s eyes. I’m dreaming of everything I’ve believed in, I’m dreaming of anything I don’t. 

New Waves

I’ve been dreaming of the sea, and new waves of abandon. I’m in the house with no floors, splashing afloat. I’m in the rowboat, free from horizons. The death of the whale was surface disbelief. The death of the whale, the sea delivered me. Then came the shark, in sparkling rowed teeth. Then came the shark, and the boat was grief. I’ve been dreaming of the sea, and new waves of abandon.

Half Dead

Bedtime chaos like a Monday rolling. The sky opened quick, cracked pepper black and grey into the sky knowing it’s a weeknight grind. The dog has lost his mind, seeking shelter in the tub because he doesn’t understand a thing about the weather. I’m tossing and turning with no appetite for sleep, just a gnawing need to eat the night into oblivion. And every milligram steals me away where my body begs but my brain screams “if the average male life expectancy was 77.28 in 2020 then you’re basically half dead already”.

Lost and Found

Im always falling into things, like twenty main characters in the coffee shop, curiously alive and fizzing. A crowd of personal fireworks in little booms, quiet to the background under electric drums and caffeinated sips. A little you for a little me, lost and found.

Soft Black

A silhouette of the softest black, thrown to the asphalt from two lights at angles that never meet, pooled to a puddle dark. The new scar on the parking lot, perpendicular between white cars. I’m lacking definition, like a free-float with loose edges, open borders. I let everything in when I’m scared of missing out.

That I Should

That I should need the thing. That I should chase myself around, tired. Sticking to the edge of every thing. That I should need at all the constant queries voiced and hiding, little against my voice, loud against my life.
That I should need the thing is the fear of a Wednesday, horizon smoked from the north, and my entire future balanced itself, dry on the edge of a glass.
That I should want the thing. Because the thing delivered me, spinning An Orange and A Blue. Because I’m in love with reverie, I’m in love with remorse.

Now I Don't Go To Malls

I didn’t even want to go to the mall, but life is an endless errand. I don’t normally get followed through meaningless pursuits, but I must look extra kidnappable on Saturdays with a fresh wound bleeding black ink to my ankle. We made eye contact, two humans, utterly unknown and I saw your eyes wide with old friend familiarity. Luckily, in the biggest mall on earth you had half a mile to consider the past. Down the hall, down the stairs, in the store, through the food court, up the escalator, out the door, words out of my mouth. I called your mark and the clear confusion spilled from your face. You thought yourself a shadow, you thought I’d choose silence, now I’m left with questions, like - who was I to you? Who the fuck are you? Why are you wearing a Christmas sweater in June? Did I look kidnappable?...all of life’s biggest universal queries. Now I don’t go to malls on Saturday. I stick to the internet where I’m only stalked by manageable monsters, like trolls, and ads for things I only thought of, and porn I didn’t ask to see.