Shoreleave

A dazzling affair, her sprawl.

I survey the chattering chaos

With my back against the wall.

I bet you, they can’t see it all.

Bitterly imbibing a liquid dessert

I wonder at her pointed invite.

She’s quick to laugh, quicker to flirt.

So maybe I’m not as over the hurt.

I’d like to be out there, in her gardens

Spilling all my questions at her feet.

But seeing her mingling only hardens

The kiln-ready armor that harkens

Back to a more vulnerable time

When all we knew of life was love.

So, I drown myself in lost, pale lines

Dividing my torture from my sublime.

“How’s life?” She asks like she must.

But she knowingly smirks, dimpling.

“Why am I even here?” I verbally fuss.

Quieting: “You’re the only one I trust.”

Hard to comprehend. Harder to believe.

“You could have anyone,” I counter.

“You’re right,” she quickly agrees.

“But, to me, anyone but you deceives.”

Caught up, I war after her meaning.

(I’d rather reminisce peaceful past.)

Surely she knows I’m a fool for her

But I know she’d never ask me back…

“What do you want from me?” I say.

She sighs: “Your world, everything.”

I begin to wander away, as if my life

Hasn’t been just a series of journeys

Away from her, and back to her side.

Like she wasn’t the one pivot point for me.

She laughs, “Oh, don’t be such an ass!

“Dance with me!” She grabs the hand ’round my glass.

“With you–?” I manage. But then we’re off

And the room folds like her invitation

As my heart sprawls out and up to loft

With the heady smell of carnation.

Her eyes have become two islands

And my gaze flits between their sands.

Time has become only these words

And this gossamer feeling that exists

In all four corners of the world

Where I always surrender to her kiss.

“We Choose to Go to the Moon!”

If the ends of the universe
be consigned to the edges of your imagination
I imagine the ends I will go
to get there
exceed your imagination’s reach.
But should your heart find its way
pining off the pier of Forever
it will surely find me there.
And should my heart see yours
I imagine we could watch the last stars fall
as if our pioneering spirits are equally
damned
by being made of the same, perilous stuff.
And, like them, I imagine
our ends coincide with the universe’s.
Which begs a stellar question:
Do stars imagine the lengths they once went
to travel the reaches of their singularly beautiful
universe…
ever..
ending?

Just You and Me in a Sensory-Deprivation Tank

Human egg cells are as big as the dot of an i.

Earth is smaller.

The Milky Way is only a handful of human ghosts – a breath of dandelion seeds – the cold spot in a hallway of an abandoned shape.

And the universe is only a corridor turned inside-out.

A prolapsed birth canal.

Never have I ever felt more terrified than when my mind betrayed me.

Not wanting to know something is not the same as not knowing something.

We all seek wisdom before we are forced to consume a facet of it… and then all we do is run from its harrowing honesty.

But maybe I should end at the beginning:

It’s a circle. Everything. A circle from finish to finish.

I live. I die. I live. I die. I live. I know. I die. I know. I live. I die. I know. I know. I die. I live. I die. I live. I know. I die. I live.

Here we are. We’ve met before. You read my words. You hear my thoughts. My words in your eyes, in your head, a part of me in you. Ambrosia.

No. A basilisk’s tongue in your ear like a terrible song.

Do you want to know?

Not wanting to know is not the same as not knowing.

Because you’ve already done this. You will do this again. You will read these words. You will agonize over their cycle. The circle will go around and around.

The universe in the dot of an i expanding and contracting. Over and over.

Birth. Death.

And we watch ourselves without eyes, our breathing hitching for a second, as we imagine ourselves outside of the bodies we were born with… dying.

Is sleep just practice?

Or are the dreams trial?

To make order out of chaos, we combine the imaginary with the tactile and our minds meld into our muscles as we draft words on the page, our mouths rounding and cutting on their invisible syllables.

We cross our ts and dot our is

We are

Dots

Places

Circles

Universes

Forever

And ever

And

I Don’t Know If I’m Okay Today -or- At Least I have Resources

How broken did you get?

We’re prepared for the worst.

Did you see a dead body?

Did you feel they shot first?

How fucked is your sleep?

(We have pills to correct it.)

Do you feel disconnected?

Discomfited?

Do you randomly weep uninvited?

How happy are your pursuits?

Are you drinking enough water?

Does your spouse feel abused

Or as if you don’t even bother?

And how’s your head?

How’s that injury you didn’t sustain?

How’s that warm, inviting bed?

How is your child'(ren’)s disdain?

How helpless did you feel then?

How embarrassed are you now?

How ashamed are you (on a scale of 1 to 10)?

And what are your pronouns?

Are you Non-Hispanic or White?

Are you poor or rich?

Are you wrong or right?

Are you an asshole or a total bi–?

Wait. I should–

E-Excuse me?

You’re… good?

Just peachy?

Oh.

Well.

Cool.

Doll.

If

You

Need

Anything

You

Know

Who

To

Call.