Date:	2010-04-03 20:13
Subject:	a beginning.
Security:	Public
Mood:	amused
Music:	cujo - a vida

as with all things tangible, there is a beginning. which implies substance, and also, that at some point, there will be an end. but, as is standard in this life, we know not when that end will be. does that prevent us from reaching onward, outward? i certainly hope not.

this, along with the one below it, are the token public entries, left for those who stumble along and may wish to read, so that they may have some way to contact me. if you are such a person, please, let me know. if not, thanks for your time and have a great life.


Edit: this experiment in secrets is over; this journal is now open to the public.

slight catch of [not] your hair
[just the back]
corner of my eye, glimpse that turns and shifts
brings the flicker
the pidder-pat
heart leaps,
are you still here?
I've passed by your house so many times

daybreak
riding by

evening
walking past, accompanied,
stealing glances at the window
when I can
your scent firm in my mind,
an image in my mind of a catch of your eyes,
fixated,
then turned,

cold, too cold to be outside,
hair covered in your oversized hat,
companioned with Them,
you and I,
simultaneous acknowledgment through disassociation and a
quick turn of the head

averted gazes which become afterthoughts heretofor

the fire I lacked burning strong

the desire you lacked echoing firm

the solidity showing through,
despite your word
long broken
never forgot
to be thought
of, often, at least weekly,
while alone in a state of early preparation,
harvesting, collecting, forming, creation-that-is-not

always on the tip of my finger
just a breath away from my lips,
eyes closed,
so many nights I have cried for you
held my own arms close to my chest
wondered
queried,
yet silence.

I can feel your judgment now,
your naive musings on the nature of connection;
what it must be like to feel connections but not connected

and still I yearn

ebb, pull
feel your warm embrace

wrapped in the sorrow of the future prematurely told,
gazed through my too-wise eyes to the core of the matter,
turned around and yet even still proven correct
as these eyes never lie

do you still silently shiver at night?

do you still lash out at the demons in your mind,
reaching but retracting over the wire to
the helpless you pull in?

Condemnation for you I seek,
though I know not if I could deliver.

all I ask if that you take good care of the last of my hope;
hold it dear,
hold it close;
you keep what you kill, and
for that, I give it to you.

I miss.

walking silently through the brisk cold
[sun out, blue sky, but biting]
knowing through and through into what I walked
and yet going
keeping a bet with myself
[as always]
pushing just a little farther
test of will
how long can I hold this steady
and can I make you blink first

this is not a game, I assure
though I may play dumb
this is not a dance,
though we sidestep and sway back and forth

this generosity is true, pure
and bears no price [as I've said] but openness and honesty
and then it shifts and turns
in a swift succession of dodges, parries
as you retreat from something you won't name

growing colder is never easy for something that burns this bright
[even if I can't name the source]
though it is inevitable if we continue the path I see
and still, I wait, not pointing out the peril
because you have to see it for yourself, and decide

preparations are being made for the walls to be rebuilt
I will hold them off as well as I can,
but I [like you] make no guarantees
too many clocks ticking for either comfort

but I still wait. For how long is up to you.

How often these times have come,
whispering near-silent thoughts cascading down
in a slight hush, barely tasted, perseverance and an almost off-hand smile

the eyes, they hide what lies[truth?] beneath,
lurking in the dark facade of a cool, crisp breeze,
slightly biting at my skin,
creeping on the edge of awareness,
white noise humming in the midnight air

the unspoken thoughts of an unknown thing,
sensed but not perceived, known but still as of yet an Unknown

and yet,
how long
how far
how distant it can be, stretches the imagination,
seethes with swirls of arrogance and doubt;
a celebration in order, but all in due time,
ever ticking, regardless of scores being kept and/or settled;
Assistance in pursuits offered, accepted,
though the path is walked alone.

So [un]sure they can be,
such a rarity,
this odd sensation and vulnerability
creeping in on the peripheral,
perceived but not sensed.

The dark sweep from behind, above and over, all around,
enveloping,
caressing,
yet a small escape always remaining,
as if to taunt its prey with delusions of grandeur
which hide a similarly jeering sense of self-betrayal.

"The best of intentions are often the path to delumination," he thinks,
wrapping himself with frail cloth in a gesture against the piercing cold.
Then again, there is, of course, no other way.

Such is the way with dreams.

swirls
cold wind biting on my cheeks and fingertips
as I rode away, tears streaking my face

a dismissal so profound as to shake me,
pull me, tear me from my joy

in another time, I'd thank you for that,
though now, wiser that I am, I will only thank myself
and my over-eager mind and heart for opening up

all I really wanted was your support,
a shoulder, a hug, a smile
an ear to listen, a word of praise

the depths I've traveled, with and without you
so many roads, many with no end
some simultaneous
shifting along, occasionally crossing yours

never did I leave your side
not really
even when forced to go, told, by you, to leave

tears can be a comfort, even at their worst
showing that you still feel, often at times when you thought yourself gone to such
grand delusions as being able to care anymore

all I want is to be happy
and for you to be happy for me
and for you to be happy
and for us to be proud of each other

though I can't see you, I can feel you there
just outside the edge, just along the peripheral
waiting, eyes dancing, sly smile gracing your lips

I can smell you in the lingering aftertaste
of the cool autumn breeze that chills as it comforts,
brings back thoughs of when

though I know you not, I can always feel you walking at my side
in those maroon moments of almost-night
you creep from behind and seat-belt your arms around my waist,
hold me close and I smile.

we stroll side by side, wrapped in long scarves tangled with fallen leaves
and we play hide and seek in our heads while sitting in a bright field.

you laugh when I smile and ruffle my hair when I frown
you tenderly comfort me at night with soft whispers of perseverance and providence;
beat back the dark and create our own light

I can feel you there, just beside the me beside myself
holding my hand, lifting it up, and lightly kissing it
before we continue our evening walk.

"hush hush," you say
"even though you can't see me, I'm here"

and I smile, say "I know you are," and close my eyes once again.

~*~

It's been almost a year... more is on the way. It's in here, I just can't seem to get it to come out.

But out it wants.

Soon.

~*~

and here we am, once again
heart beats in time to the fans on overdrive,
that slight tickle on the skin, kissed by doubt

movement behind the eyes betray thoughts of contentment
as the the flickers of light dance and frolic [as they do at times like these]
idle times they may be, and idle time does be dangerous
[treacherous, even]
and a quite wish for the rain that came, that felt this,
that came down from a cry inside, because of this, the things they cause
weather changes, a stir in the air,
and a tingle on the back of the neck, hairs on end

words slip through as they pass by
silent moments blurring through the fabric
no, no, I think, I say, I almost am
too soon, not again, not like this,
dressed like this,
this costume of culture
an image of detachment and self-absorption
eyes cast downward
off trinkets and collectibles
mirroring the wandering tendencies of an agile mind.

Mischief makers coursing through
prime-time familial familiarities, a
smile and a nod [sideways glance]
[inquisition] yet removed [on a level]
haddock and wine combined with
good company -

-but these are days past,
yet we reach for them, clutch

how these [un?]seen cycles repeat,
and I call out each one from afar

Though, there is change,
there is movement, and I tell myself
"this too will pass."

I tell a lie to myself it did once,
it will again,
and for but a moment, I find comfort.

No worry, this time,
not yet,
I face this with open eyes
and a [relatively] clear head,
perched atop a chair, this time,
nothing so gallant as a throne,
nothing so wonderous as a mountain,
just a simple wooden chair, eyes-height,
for though I am a quixotic one,
I am no longer so young as to believe we can all end up happy.

flashes of you, so close I can breathe you in,
you can be my air, you can be my breath,
you can sustain me here in this moment in my head
cradle me from the sick and sad,
wipe the single tear I allow to fall
put it in your mouth and tell me I need water,
with a slight smile and cock of the head,
showing me it will be ok

you're breathing for me through your eyes and you don't see it,
you can't see it

so as you are my breath, so I will be your eyes,
shifting here and there, always alert and watching,
I can watch your back if you can keep me alive

and then the last cigarette burns out,
and so does the image, so fitting, so right,
so close, and so the one

for someone else. [set me free]

Now I cry with a smile, and I taste the coming Fall
as the days grow shorter and the air cooler [if only late at night]...

Oh, how I welcome it,
Oh, how it has been missed.

~*~


Thank you all for waiting.

there it is, there it was, and there it goes
racing by as it pulls to and fro
[stop and go]

corner-glances at a pseudo-beret and a coffee cup in hand,
a sideways glance at a near-missed encounter
[and yet a dove folded just for you]
impromptu, in the modern style
[the way you like it]

and the heart goes pidder-pat with anticipation,
unfulfilled

inhale

exhale

and return to baseline in the cold night air

with a sharp remembrance of a mere fourty-eight hours or so
[give or take]
to an evening laced with the scent and taste
of love and betrayal,
the dying nights of autumn
and how i held you so close i couldnt breathe
wishing for death in that moment,
a conclusion of happiness in this layer lacking depth

the vehicles racing by
not a care in the world
minding only their own tasks and destinations,
meaningless in the night air; oblivious to the ice

a strong pull felt and yet,
stoic,
remain

and he still doesnt understand
and he still wanders
and he still fails to grasp how he fails to grasp
and doesnt know when i speak directly to him

do you? [speak if you understand, for once]

and yet, turning away once again,
[to change the topic once again]
admissions of selfishness,
[would this be considered confession now?]
and a role reversal so keen

nods of sleeplessness calling,
and i drink them all in,
empty this bottle,
hold them close, as i held you dear.
sweet.
true.
unknown.

once again, onward;

and a single tear for you;

an unseen regret that you will never know,
cannot know,
cannot see,

and a kiss into the wind,
for it has nowhere else to go.

~*~

Kendall stop on a Braintree train
cicadas and auditions come back
half there, less than half here
home-bound from a shallow victory
and a reminder of many wars, few nobly fought.

wrapped in wool lovingly crafted;
an external reminder of the internal lack,
an external reminder of the half-truths
that sustained us for so long -
fingers bloodied in my creation ritual
almost long-forgotten

the sharp burn of scotch and loss
at the back of my throat;
calling out, climbing up,
reaching out, searing in,
falling up, peering in
out
on
crackled heads hum the whispers to themselves

pages torn and tossed
words that fail
failure in sound
sound in motion,
locked with the ebb and pull of the train
and internal organs that call for retribution
and pray for no regrets

done is done and then what are we
when neither can or cares to see

Harvard stop on a BC train
sever this
remove this
take this, it is yours
and go go out and up (as is mocked)
i want the peace i want the calm
forget this, leave this

missed stops merely missed opportunities
as i stumble to find my way Home

what is Home now without your warmth?
what is safe without your touch
what is left of me or you
that was here inside the Us?

~*~

what is this, what is that, you ask,

hidden shapes moving in the darkness of the little places,
untouched by the ever-dimming but now slowly-returning sunlight,
as thoughts of the torch illuminate all around, dancing with possibility and tip-toeing with doubt,
round and round they go in this sideshow circus of the bizarre;

Dunn had it right in that cult classic, though i wonder just how much was intended as metaphor,
and how much just comes out that way for us

these days and nights are less lonely by myself, though the Holiday may be over,
the vacation has just begun
to take it's turn down those other ways, the ways of night-things and play-things and all-things but these-things and those-things arent my-things and your-things are something i cannot bear
and yet
surrounded,
cocooned in you i sit, wander, and drift into a thousand sleepless nights of yesteryear,
that dim light and hum of indy rock and trip-hop guiding our visions,
parallel but varied in their course
one completed, one finished
one creation, both destruction
and in that way we played God together, you and i, as we looked out to the world identified as Not Us and laughed to ourselves despite what We Knew and what the Other Didnt.

these tiny flickers are but reflections of Then which were always
projections of now,
i say that now, but i saw that then,
we both did, in those silent moments gazing at the sun from the rooftop with the lobster,
it flashed and i said nothing

i said
i said
i am wrapped in what was just the beginning of hints veiled as a message
seven scarves, seven hats, four pairs of gloves, two hoods, three vests, three coats, two blankets, and an uncounted amount of shirts;

i said
i am
i wonder if all these years you've all been telling me to keep warm
or telling me that i'm cold,

i am
we were
old friends sounding new squeaks in old machinery, and i wonder once again where the oil is

i am
tearing out and up from my vantage point on the floor,
i race to avoid the constant returns of those i call and fail to message;
up and out, inverted on nothing but stale smoke to hide the smell of tobacco
racing up and out, like a bad Dick novel gone mad on dope and amphetamines,
pure fire and brimstone coursing though each page
on a mission the size of Zeus's forehead in the withering moments following the birth of a lesser god.

i am
i was your little candy-coated secret,
slowly dissolving hidden beneath your tongue
Christ reborn in the form of a somewhat-decrepit pizza pocket on a late thursday evening
crucified once again in a matchstick-made heaven

your picture-perfect seventh grade obstacle course of pillows and figurines
the three-week-old haiku of magnetic poetry
seeking completion on your refrigerator door
if you could only find the right monosyllabic word or verb conjugation

it lingers just outside of all reach because we forgot to tense up when they cuffed us
had we only paid more attention to Houdini's obfuscation, perhaps we'd know the way out

but no, these secrets are like the Philosopher's Stone or run-free pantie hose;
dreamt of by many but known by few in these cold wintery nights alone with you

and still, up

up
out and on, still clutching the scent of human co-mingling with coffee and sex and all the good sins,
yearning, proclaiming to the world I AM HERE! I AM HERE!
without a care for the neighbors because they're not real
or at least, not yet
in those panic-stricken moments of the Sabbath, where we made our own covenant to make no promises,
hold no quarter, and ask nothing of what Could Have Been,
spanning the ages while we wait, and sit, and breathe.

so much of you in every moment.
so much of me to be found.

if you see any pieces scattered about, please put them in a box,
marked "c/o you"
and see that i get them sometime down the road.

~*~

small conversation
chit-chat, if you will
with so many questions hiding in the shadows that surround
a creeper lurking in the back
uneasy stomach, held down by the weight of it all

eyes flicker, close, open
blink
blink
and try to focus on something tangible,
head swims in the circles of a dilemma who's solution is long overdue

an almost-quiet night,
disturbed by the distant sounds of cars,
the low hum of a fan
the television set of a neighbor, getting their Friday Night Movie in
before moving on to bed, following their worn routine

discomfort hangs in the room,
attaches itself to the humidity in the air
as he tries to shake it off like rain,
but he is soaked.

i know the important questions
and i know the correct responses
but i dont know why i linger to answer
when time is of the essence,
regardless of its existence
or lack thereof.

other questions that cannot be answered,
not now,
or at least will not,
for reasons of their own

and the only thing that i continue to never find reason to question
is what i see between the lines

...and more importantly, what i dont see,
no matter how hard i look.

there are so many conversations that we hold without words
that we hold with the sky and the clouds
that speak volumes
in hints and winks
and in the secrets that cannot be kept
[except from ourselves]
and yet,
words that should come do not

i do not know how to find the words i cannot tell myself,
despite the turmoil caused by their absence,

the loss of the broken words, he said,
though i doubt he ever knew how they would be received,
tattered in the heart of a kindred he would shun

...though none of that is important, is it?

as usual, i have no conclusion, so i leave you with what lies before.

~*~

as we lay there, wrapped in the long-out-of-season comforter,
i tried to fall asleep, but alas, only my arm was successful.
the rest of me was acutely aware of anything but sleep;
your hair, still damp from the previous frolic in the rain,
the summer-rain sticky-heat,
the sound of the fan in the window
[both making areas it touches cold and, as a result, reminding those covered of their relative heat]
sounds of cars driving by,
the rumble of the occasional firetruck, lights flashing, creeping it's way down the street
so as not to wake the slumbering residents;

the tiny sounds you make, shifting to and fro,
and my subsequent adoration;

the tear caught halfway between my eye and my cheek;
i hadnt noticed it come out, but there it was,
reminding me that yes, i am affected,
yes, this matters,
yes, i still hurt.

i kept expecting more to follow,
a deluge of water and salt mingled with unwashed face and semi-toxic rainwater;
i gathered my strength in preparation of muscle control,
breathing control,
so as not to wake you...

...but come it did not.

i thought more, tried to focus on the pain,
searched for triggers, but that was it - just the one.

it wasnt until i thought of how sad i was that there was but one tear
that more came, though they no longer mattered, nor were they desired.
they fell without a third thought,
[as the second was to turn my head ever so slightly, so as not to wet your already-damp head or face]
and were [almost]promptly wiped away.

seconds to minutes to hours and here i am,
six-hundred twenty-two days past a kiss my whole life in the making;
four-hundred and ninety-nine days after the making of a whole new "life";
ten days before Our home is Ours no more,
and we move on to many new beginnings.

beginnings and endings were always a theme here, and so yet another conclusion is met;

...this experiment in hiding has come to an end;
this hidden world has now been exposed.

sometimes i still pray for peace,
sometimes i still yearn for comfort.
far too often i wish i were wrong.

but sometimes in your eyes, i *do* see my brilliance shining back at me, and for that i thank you.

~*~

why do you stay over there, my dear?

just a Question,
something that has been running through my head
for quite some time now, a lost thought
running through the forest
trying to find it's way home,
find some destination as yet unknown...

...and it has settled upon you.

it saw you from a distance,
had to rub it's eyes and adjust position
as the shift from blinding sun-glare
to gloomy pouring rain
obscured vision
[little did it know, this was by design, not accident]

after a long journey,
worn and weary,
here it is, much closer,
and yet still seeing only a muddled image,
distorted rays of light bouncing left and right
the walls of your construct a prism,
a two-way mirror

and yet, the call for connection

*tap, tap*

why do you stay over there, my dear?
why do you hide yourself away?

the Question sees in,
sees your veils and superstitions
and knows that it cannot answer your call for connection
unless you ask it to,
unless you let it in.

the secrets peel away at what is real
or at least what is true
[though truth itself is mostly how you see it,
and you will always see mostly what you seek]
and they all know that nothing is ever what it seems,
but some things [mis]represent themselves better than others
and some things yearn
though some yearn to be seen through and through
and some merely want their yearning to be seen

which one are you, my dear? which one are you?

these riddles mean nothing,
in the end

simply words on a screen,
thoughts that drift and float,
gliding through the city to catch you in mid-transport
that tickle that you notice at the back of your ear
as you board the train,
absent-mindedly following your pattern of return

but to what do you return?

is it something you know?
or is it something you see?

the two are different, says the Question,
and resemble each other in taste alone

and though one will live forever,
etched into the imagination
the other spends but a limited time here,
though shifting and changing,
speaks volumes in what is Not Said
and continues to feel
long after it's recognition has faded from consciousness,
silently shedding a tear that begs for friends,
even acquaintances or strangers,
just someone to heed the beckon of Gravity with it,
show some sense of solidarity
some steadfast recognition of existence and emotion,
some affect of pain,
truth,
screaming

look! see me?? i am here, i am real and so are you!!

...but no friends come,
and so,
lacking the confidence and drive granted by numbers,
it quietly creeps down making no noise,
no fuss about it,
accompanied only by a meek, soft sigh
before returning to the Great Sad Composure of before


the Question is, of course, full of questions
a device of inquisition
but it does have some statements as well

THIS is what you feel like right now,
it says.
i just thought you might like to know.

stop hiding,
it says.
even though the Rest cannot see you,
they can still feel you,
as well as the things that you do, and the things that you do not do.

remember that.

and then it returns to whence it came,
head bowed.




are you a question?
are you an answer?
or are you just pretending that you know,
scared to death of being wrong and having to change later down the line?

you are still here, regardless,
if only in shadows,
and you still affect us all,
even if you doubt our existence.

sleep on that. i know i do.


~*~

the ocean feigns many tales,
flowing waves
like so many head-ridden whispers
lend credence to the superstitions about,
give voices to the emotions that pull,
pay allowance to the shadows with which we dance,
shied away where no one can see,
least of all ourselves.

the waters so silently agree
to what we apply,
lovingly caressing our desires,
our earnest quest for meaning,
purpose,
and we listen to what we tell ourselves.

another dawn approaches,
more cycles,
continuous, unbroken,
moving on with no notice to us,
only slightly less often than we notice it.

there is more, always more,
so much pushing out,
screaming, pounding,
reaching
with no outlet,
no voice upon which to attach itself

... and so it turns inward,
seeking a point of reference
that it cannot touch,
cannot see nor feel,

...and thus despair is born.

it rests there, in that hollow,
feeds on the intangibles,
yearns for release,
solace and peace

i speak no truths here.
i speak only of the things that need to be said
instead of speaking them directly.

all told,
i say nothing because i lack the fortitude
to face my demons.
partly, i record this in hope that others
may act where i do not,
and partly in a vain hope for a caamora for myself,
a cleansing to shine my true light upon myself.

be what you need, not what i seek to use.


~*~

Date:	2004-06-11 11:23
Subject:	Sometimes they come back.
Security:	Public
Mood:	sore
Music:	birds chirping.

and sometimes what returns
bears no resemblance to what left oh so long ago
eons and seconds past
the flicker of a candle and they change -

and though no two flames may look the same,
we look back on our fading memories
for reminders of who or what we're Supposed To Be
a gaze, a stare into a moment more pure
more real than any we can foresee now,

and what do they tell us but fanciful stories to fluff up our egos,
tales told by the side of a child's campfire
to scare away ghosts and monsters in the night.

we've been over this, time and time again,
and no actual moment can seem as real as those imagined,
those shadows of thought that fade
as the light pours in and the dew dries from our eyes.

the cold, hard scar on our forehead
reminding us of the sight we have lost
reminding us of what was only a dream
and the yearning of that which we cannot remember,
cannot touch nor feel,
though it still affects us,
this detachment...

if we could only forget what we know will come;
but that would make us Gods.

they say to be Enlightened is to learn to forget what we've learned...
true wisdom, that.

some say there is wisdom in dreams;
i say there are but dreams in wisdom.

~*~

Date:	2004-01-28 11:27
Subject:	tell me something more worth...
Security:	Public
Mood:	empty
Music:	lamb - feela

amazing, how quickly things can change
a sudden realization of illusion comes,
and *poof*
your entire world changes

it doesnt really matter how much you've told yourself all along
that it doesnt matter,
how many times you've tried to convince yourself that you dont really care
as much as you do,
that the differences are unimportant,

no matter if your better logic says that love is a one-way force,
completely independent of another,

when the deep truth that you are lying to yourself crashes,
it will always catch you by surprise.

it does matter,
sometimes,
because it's not just love for another that feels so good,
it's the recognition of some type of mutuality,
some similarity, some connection and pairing of respect and understanding
that feels so good, that ignites the fires in your eyes,
to give you something More to fight for,
something that runs deeper than the flesh, deeper than words

and some say that the beauty of Love is inherent to its very lack of definition,
that what makes it special is that it means so many different things...

to those people, i send a shaking head and a tear for their hidden sorrow,
a warm embrace to shelter them from their fears

for i believe that those who wrap themselves in convenient shadows
of wordplay and possibilities
are simply afraid of acknowledging the fact that to Love another,
that to truly be Close to another,
is a promise and a responsibility
and those that say nay to such Truths are prisoners of their own insecurities,
fearful of being wrong, fearful of causing harm

yet do they not realize that to hold back such acceptance of their possible "failures"
is to guarantee pain?

it is a fallacy to see causing pain to another as a failure,
but it is likewise a fallacy to believe that simply being honest should not cause pain
deeper still, and more importantly, it is a crime to Ourselves to make a connection but hold back intrinsic truths about one's self, for no real connection can ever be made without openness and honesty;
any who believe differently are again letting loose convenient watercolors of fanciful protection
to hide their own shortcomings from those they would seek to be close to,
the ones who would trust them with their own failings

perhaps it is in this sense that we are all Sinners;
perhaps we need to learn to forgive ourselves our trespasses.

Celine said that Conversation is only possible between equals;
i would posit a slight change, one that i feel is far more relevant
and far more important, quite possibly, of the utmost:

Love is only possible between equals.


~*~

the Monkey truly denotes a time of Change
this change of seasons is harder to weather than anticipated
funny that, how no matter how we prepare for the winter,
no matter how many canned goods we stock,
no matter the amount of fresh water stored safely in the pantry,
we can still be taken aback from the ferocity of the winds and snow,
still be buried by the storm's fury,
frozen to the bone by the squalls that threaten to close us in our own homes

the thin display window that stands between you and the world inside
the dolls all dressed up in their Sunday Best
they're putting on a show, making a sale,
enticing you to come in, consume,
convincing you that you need and want the new Styles,
that the outfits you see before you are More You,
Bigger, Better, More Modern
than your tired-old tattered antiquated garments

and you hesitantly enter, and find yourself slowly reaching for your wallet
without even thinking about it
saying to yourself
"maybe i could use a new shirt, and my shoes are a little worn..."

and later, holes through the soles of your broken new shoes,
you start to rethink your decision,
but maybe you just werent wearing them properly,
maybe if you went out and got new new shoes,
and altered your gait accordingly,
maybe this time they would be more comfortable,
and if not, maybe you could learn to not let the cold ground coming through the holes
bother you quite as much,
and you want to fit in,
and you want to be fashionable, and modern,
and you want to Look Good
and not seem like a relic from Yesteryear that just Couldnt Die,
resembling those Late-Year hair bands that didnt realize that Grunge
had already dealt them the Killing Blow,
the chickens that dont know they're dead yet
and are frantically trying to Find A Way Out,
trying to prevail in a world that has already forgotten them and their kind,
already moved on to the Next Big Thing

and, begrudgingly, you put on the new new shoes,
and try to ignore the growing pain in your heel...
[if you close your eyes it will go away...]

and you begin to forget what it was that you define as "fashion"
and less and less question what your own tastes are
in favor of the status quo, nodding silently as you are told you look so good,
so handsome in these clothes that do not fit,
like a child playing dress-up in his father's closet,
it seems so fun at first, you can pretend to be someone else,
but half-way through you begin to yearn for the clothes that fit,
the well-worn, tattered jeans and t-shirt that is so Well Loved,
but you cant stop the game in mid-stride,
no matter how ridiculous you feel

it's only clothes, you know
and what matters is the person who wears them
or at least, that's what i try to tell myself
it doesnt matter
it doesnt matter at all

my mother always told me that i deserved whatever i wanted
i dont think i have the heart to tell her that she was wrong


~*~

a brief respite
an eye in the storm
a large rock to sit on

the silence is still there
though it's quieter than usual

most things are quieter than usual, these days
the birds vacant from my skies
the cold snow a reminder of change,
there to make sure i do not let the warm weather go to my head

i have been joining in with the silence as of late
finding truths not spoken yet understood in that hesitation
the distance growing further, deeper
as the sharp hunger pierces again

though i've grown accustomed to it
know it's sting like an old friend
treat it as such, as a welcome sensation of the Real
affirmation that That Happened
because sometimes, it's hard to remember clearly

the shifts are far too frequent
to give a perspective of Up or Down
and It hides in the back right of my head
causes me to squint to shut it out

my mind races to find something, anything to occupy
to take my mind off this thing that Is Not
and try to hold my breath for just a little longer,
my breath that i can see in the air
the air that is creeping steadily around me
enveloping me

it's hard to tell whether the lever is off, or just tricky
[sometimes it sticks, you know]
and so i sit, and wait, and push it again


...maybe the pellet will drop this time.

...maybe next time?

i dont know what to do but keep pushing
but it's getting colder out
and i'd better find shelter soon

this sun wont last
winter is coming
and i forgot to harvest when i could
caught up in the magic of the fall...

i can make it through with one more.


...please just let one more pellet drop.


...just one more.

please.


~*~