Hiræth

the darkness had been falling

just a little too long

I don’t think anyone really believed

she’d ever find her way back

 

that’s where I found her:

standing around

a little lost

a little scared

looking a lot like Gretel

after the bread crumbs had ran out

 

the hunger…the fight

it was still there

just under the surface,

if anyone cared to look hard enough;

it seemed as if she’d lost the

willingness to try

but when I brushed the hair back out of her eyes

it was still there:

that fragile hope that

Love might win.

 

maybe we all get a little lost

looking for answers to

the wrong questions we keep asking ourselves

clawing our way back out of the well

and trying to find our way back home,

when all along we never knew

just what home could really be.

Jacquerie 

She’s got me in the clip, 

But always someone else 

in the chamber… 

And though I know I’ll wait here 

Pent up, alone 

Never even getting the chance to 

Expend the energy to 

Explode into her environment the way 

He did or 

He does or 

He will… 

I sit here patiently,

The last kid in gym class :

Pick me…

Pick me. 

reify

bobbing up and down
on a sea of uncertainty:
worried.
waiting.
wanting.

you

in so many ways I
never knew before…

held up.
held close to my heart
held close to my hands
by you,
with the calming expectation
of
promises you made
but give no indication
you plan
to keep.

lost and alone
I seek solace in
an early exit-
a controlled departure-
knowing you
will always wonder what
I was running from
even though
deep down…
all along…
we both knew:

it was you.

all alone in a motel room in fucking Roseville, CA

and I’m feeling it, again…

switching channels

like

switching thoughts and

falling perilously close to

jagged memories that just

scar me

over and

over

again.

 

I’m wondering what tonight

might be like

in another script altogether

another scene where

there are new lines and

a different girl

and someone who knows

what the fuck they are doing

blocking my movement,

mapping it out on stage…

stand here,

cross there…

so I know when to move from a to b

and

don’t have to spend the next 8 months

second guessing why I’m

sleeping in the

wrong bed.

 

Ad libbing seems

almost cool

when I see

a pro doing it-

when it’s done well-

but when I’m in the midst of

blowing up a scene

I quickly realise

that this shit isn’t getting renewed

and just how many people

I’m putting out of a job

if their roles in this part of my story

depend on my performance,

or that I deliver

the right line

to the right girl

at the right time.

 

Mostly I’m spouting

free verse

about things I know little

to zilch

about

but playing it cool and

pretending

“I got this”-

if anyone would just stop

and think back to season two, episode 10

they’d figure out that this won’t end well

and I’m destined for

a series ending cliff hanger

that I still haven’t devised a plan

to write myself out of.

fugacious

in that first moment after waking,

post sleep

when the world has been

going about it’s business without me,

but for a moment

a split second, really,

nothing has settled back into my thoughts

from the outside…

I wonder when

at what point

-ground zero-

when the day’s first second

started belonging to her.

How many places

and times

and faces

have been wrapped up in the space

where sleep

and dreams

and the weariness of the world

all convene and

talk amongst themselves

about the direction my day

will set off on.

 

It’s understandable

I totally get how

at the end of the day,

long after life closes down

and the world seems like

it might just shut off

that suddenly,

out of nowhere,

my thoughts would settle on

her face

her laugh

just.

her.

The day gone,

my time spent

I’m long out of bread crumbs

and I don’t care if I ever find

my way back

from the swirl of thoughts

that have me wishing for things before

I’ve even rubbed the bottle…

 

here, though

first light.

as the sun strikes me

warms my eyelids

shakes me to wake me

and buries the dream,

I think

just for a moment

about all the things that

have been wedged in this space…

but I can’t remember

for the life of me

what I woke up to before

she settled in.

foudroyant

She certainly merits metaphors;

Beautiful words;

Analogies…

Poetry better than

Anything I’m going to write.

 

still,

it’s much simpler than all that.

 

there are a thousand ways I can

describe her smile

and what it does  to me;

the intoxicating smoke in her

voice that

lulls me into being some

blubbering idiot who,

high on the stardust she left in his eyes,

tries to sound remotely coherent

in spite of himself;

but in actuality

none of that would begin to

to approach the heart of the matter;

it overcomplicates the situation:

 

all I really want is to know

what her hair looks like

when she wakes up in the morning;

to know

the weight of her sadness

and fear;

to know

the urgency in picking up the pieces

that scatter when she’s broken;

to know,

whether her head

or her heart-

just to know

what it feels like

to be moving inside her.

oneiric

something as simple
and complex
as
her smile

no

the idea of her smile

no

the smile,
her smile..
the thought of her
smiling
at
me
or about
something I said…
and the way it wedges itself
deep
inside the
grey parts of my brain
takes root
digs deeper
and shows no intention of
ever letting go–
well.

I knew from that first syllable
that first laugh
that first time she said anything
or something
that vaguely resembled
my name…
her
saying
my name
on those lips…
with
that tongue…
and inside
that head…
I knew…
right then and there:
she was going
to hurt a lot more than most.

She’s a lot like sunshine
(heat.)
creeping up slowly
(bright.)
before a hostile takeover
that dominates
my entire day,
then
fading away too quickly
at that moment when
I’m longing for her most.

her thoughts.
her touch.
her…
just, every single bit of all of it.

it’s complicated when
we allow it to be more complicated
than it should be,
because nothing is simpler than
the ease at which she
turns my world
on
it’s
side
and annihilates every dream I’ve ever hoarded away
and replaces them
with something richer-
that means something, yes?
that an unexpected phone call
can make me tingle
in parts of my landscape that
had
long be condemned,
left for dead?
how long stretches of daytime
fold themselves over into
night and
leave me hoping for one more glimpse
into what she really is
and praying for enough
oxygen to
dream for another minute or two?
that this feeling
is something shared;
is as organic as it feels;
is so down to earth that
down to earth
stops being a euphemism for
something else entirely…

turbulance.

pursuit is frivolous

self centered

mean.

come to me,

let me

stop counting to 100

let me

stop chasing you around the backyard

let me

tag you before you reach base.

give to me a penance

your love

that once we shared but

now you hoard away:

water for the coming doom,

blankets on a cold winter’s night,

a fat kid’s candy.

I recognize so little

my blurry vision of what

once was crystal:

who you’ve become in

your effort to dissect

who I am;

cutting away the obvious flaws

and throwing

the rotten pieces

back in my face.

This was us-

you and me,

a joint endeavor,

or team work,

or an idea brainstormed

while high on

my words,

your dreams and

a couple of lines of whatever made you feel

this.

So it came as quite a shock

when the soft seductive call of

Sirens

convinced you to

lock your doors up tight,

let your demons

have free reign of the place

while I pounded on the gate

with bruised fists of desperation.

now, more than ever,

pursuit is frivolous

self centered

mean.

come

to

me;

let

me.