Idea of Pain in Retrospect

IDEA OF PAIN IN RETROSPECT

for David

elephants

dust

loyalty

dust

suppers

dust

eternity

no one likes a crybaby.

I steeled myself and kept the river inside,

never privy to my own grief.

my keening in dreams, cut short when I awoke

to an empty room, an empty home.

my walking staff is too strong for me –

when I lean forward, I cannot pitch to my knees.

let me never be trapped in memory,

dust coating my bleeding hands,

my callouses too rough for your beautiful skin.

I bare my face for your approval;

only my deepest mask remains intact,

peered beneath in moments of intimacy.

Explosion (Your Knives)

EXPLOSION (YOUR KNIVES)

for Taylor

you'll be better when I'm gone

when you can't dig your knives

into my baying wounds: you made these,

you turned the blade,

and you hate me when I cry out.

in this tight-knit home, we all have reputations

built of constant sins and patterns of solitude;

mine is the most broken, the most misunderstood,

and you blame me for it.

it was you who called me difficult –

you gave me something to cling to, to strive for,

then you lobotomized my behavior

with your fearsome knives.

don't wonder when I'm glad to leave the nest,

when even tiny ventures are a breath of relief

for all of us.

Muse of Despair

MUSE OF DESPAIR

for Jill

like the greatest writers, I understand:

sorrow is a joy for itself,

that one would experience such a loss

of something so great

as to cause pain.

despair is my muse,

suicide the wings to my words;

depression is an inspiration

while my pen flies across the Moleskin page.

they are not my experiences to claim,

just fascinations:

rape, ridicule, torture and torment,

society’s shames and my sparks of author’s fire.

brush lives with me, and you will find me bright,

happy, in want of a fine pint of Mac & Jack’s

and a good word or ten.

Emotion Rearranged

EMOTION REARRANGED

for Ben

trapezes and trapezoids

science and science-fiction

demons and demands

this is life! this is it! this is hailing the devil

in me, in you, for what else can we do?

stop fighting, cease crying, start lying.

you lie to yourself and you live a little

because lies push the truths aside

and let impossibilities in.

I awaken to bacon; I rhyme all the time,

and it’s all an act.

I’ve got you fooled?

I fooled me twice; nicely done, nicely done.

I rend truth from songs and shows,

and give voice to squirrels –

for out of the mouths of small woodland creatures

comes death.

Chasing Enigmas

CHASING ENIGMAS

for Marcus

speaking is like walking:

put one word in front of the other,

deliberately, so you do not trip

or tumble

pursue perfection with me.

I will forever think you wise

or at least whimsical

when our thoughts tangle and tear

exploding in fits of theory and conjecture

to keep us awake until dawn

but this is lonely

inferiority traps you behind your eyes

enlightenment traps me behind mine

I know too much

I articulate too little

I never bleed audibly

blood is metaphor

and metaphor is lonely

Particles

PARTICLES

for Joel

I am absorbed

by the circuitry of Mother Technology

particles of something meaningful in hours

spent labored over lifeless innards

I breathe in human presence

and it is good

human presence forgets me

and it is good

I chose to immerse my whole self

in electronic figments and wired dreams

so when you left

I was left unstable

glitching, twitching,

alone.

a personal hell of splinters

crafted delicately out of my hybrid thoughts

stabbing me until I am forced to succumb

to emotion.

Passing the Saints

PASSING THE SAINTS

for Brad

I am compartments within compartments,

boxes within boxes,

bowls within bowls.

I hold more than you know

or can hope to know, because I am all of it.

revolution is redefined as I sit in whitewashed rooms

and let my mind ruminate, wander too far

until I'm not sure you are my reality anymore.

a nebulous hope consumes me:

someday

truths will be irrelevant,

morality will be universal,

and I will start it all, the catalyst for change,

for passing the saints with their snobbery,

for I am holier than they.

I do not succumb to hypocrisy,

nor lust after my own reflection in the river

or the church hallways.

there is only one way

to find out.