Day sixty-five

Exercise

I found a tire on the road

and tomorrow I will hit with

a sledge hammer. I will infuse

the tire with all the hate and grief

of the world. And smash until

my hands blister and my arms

burn until I can lift no more.

15:58

Day sixty-four

Uncertainty

"Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love" - 1 John 4:8

Show me how to love. Her voice
cuts through crisp autumn air. I
know she's concentrating on my
eyes. It is night. Her pupils twitch back
and forth, refocus like twin
camera lenses as they try to capture
the universe behind my dark orbs.
But there is no such universe, only

tricks, only photo-genesis. Her

reflection resides behind the dark

glass of the soul and if I am lucky

my image hides behind the veil

of hers. I don't need to show her

anything. She already knows without

knowing. The fingernail of the moon

points directly at her. There's no

beauty like a beauty lit by Luna.

Tonight we know God.

19:05

Day sixty-three

To my future love

I am an awkward person, the same
as the feeling you get when you
forget an old friend's name. I
don't snore, but I'm told I talk
in the middle of the night when
things grow quiet, when the crickets
stop singing. I like crude humor
the kind that make little school boys
giggle on the playground-- typical
dick and fart jokes. I have delusions
of grandeur and sometimes think my poems
can move mountains, that poetry will
save the world one day. When I experience
something new, I know if I like it or not
almost immediately. I will like the sound
of your voice, so keep talking. Your parents
will think I'm a nice young man, but you
know the truth. I like astrology and I
want to believe in ghosts. I am perfect
for you, but not perfect at all. I'm clumsy
and will break something of yours, or trip
and fall in front of you. I might make
you cry one day, and I apologize for that
right now, it will probably be an insensitive
remark. I like watching films at the run
down dollar theater, the floor sticky
and the chairs falling apart. I don't
watch sports and I have no interest,
save for some Olympic ones. I love to read
and I love talking to you.

15:17

Day sixty-two

"God sometimes removes a person from your life for your protection. Don't run after them." Rick Warren

And if they listened I
would not be alive. "Dead in
a ditch" as they say. The twelve
small holes still ache on
my wrists. "You did it
wrong", the girl next to me
says in the ward. She smiles
and holds up her arms. On each
wrist a white line starts
from her palm and rivers
downward. "Third time" she
whispers like a child who
shows her mother a finger
painting. Would I be on
the other side if you hadn't
rushed in, dialed those three
digits, raving hysterical manic.
If you did not Speak to me
or cut the threads that tie
us together, would I still
stare at the poor girl next
to me, screaming silently
for help? No, because if you
chose to stay home after
seeing the flare of my Facebook
message, God would have taken
me and you would be protected.

15:37

Day sixty-one

The Other Side

We are perfect for each other
like the way the Moon and Earth
revolve around an endless waltz,
but I don't love you the way
you deserved to be loved. The spark
isn't there. I imagine that love
is just a word of colors. We
aren't on the same spectrum
and the feeling that grows from
the pit of my stomach isn't
there anymore like an empty
cave after a bear has awaken
from its hibernation. I am astronaut
in the coldness of space, waving
his hand trying to touch the rim
of the bright blue atmosphere.
Goodbye, there's nothing more to say.

15:11

Day sixty

Infatuation

There's always the little
things that enter the mind,
like worms burrowing into soft
earth. The nuances that repeat
and repeat-- The way she ties her
hair in a pony tail, the color of
the ribbon. Even the way she walks
as though she always has an important
place to go, fill the mind's projection
screen. I can't stop. I know it is wrong
to want. She's a Capulet, and my family
has neither title nor rank. I wish the mind
could wipe memories like the ocean sometimes
erases land. But I have these thoughts
spread against me like a woolen lover*.
Perhaps this is love? No love
is much stronger I suppose. Never
have I been truly in love. Perhaps
I've found the wrong fragments of
my Soul. The ones that never quite
seem to fit like mysterious jig saw
pieces. I'm waiting for a larger
chunk of my past life to wander
haphazardly into my life like a drunken
stag or turtle. Or maybe, I'm the small
fragment finding another small
piece of a greater whole.

15:00



*Stolen from John Berryman's Dream Song 1 http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15206

Day fifty-nine

And here again I stand

I look too deeply, a fraction
too long than I'm supposed to
and you don't blink, like you're
supposed to. There's no wide chasm
between us and for a fraction
we linger, but we're supposed to
break apart. It's almost like you're
caught in a trance. No wide chasm
to divide us like a fraction
with a zero denominator. Supposed to
such nonsense like you're
a common dishrag. The wide chasm
of breaking hearts a fraction
of things that I'm supposed to
take as "life experience" like you're
Father always said. "Always a wide chasm"

And here I stand again.

15:12

(Yeah don't ask... I'm on cold medication right now)