I spend a lot of time in melodic grieving.
I can feel your drumming mouth in my ear
ideas wrapped in commas & a shift in
brief gaps in our history that make up the time it takes
each other’s tried patience.
Lets fall madly in love with each other
& visit every country on the planet.
Watch the mushroom cloud from Bali
or Sweden, and I promised I’d stay but
I’m a liar at heart, and I can materialize
anything I want including excruciating remorse
for spending two plus years drowning a
garden I was supposed to love.
Sometimes you just forget how people sound
or what a parentheses means
(it’s how you speak through me).
I’m caught in the middle of two periods:
how very advantageous.
I could go back to black
or I could finally say something worth
stating and follow stars to saviors
or at least to a functioning
house that doesn’t scream
when it creaks.
I got a way with reverence
that drives revenants deep into
my gut and whispers some pretty interesting
We lurk past the gutter brawls,
the steaming sewer grates,
the empty tumblers with their bellies out
just waiting to be made.
We got out alive
but I’ve been borrowing time and
a God that isn’t mine.
I shift my posture:
I’m just waiting
to come back around,
for it all to come out.
I practice cracking my chest without
You spoon me like a semi-colon
that tacitly says
don’t go but also
for the finish
but it stays between us.
Some punctuation to a thing
hanging in the air.
A question mark when we too should have been
stumbling, aching, tipsy
with full tongue and pink hearts
and crawling all over each other’s neuroses
in an effort not to fix it
but to just hold it
and watch our love
into a giant, quivering ellipsis
that sounds a lot like
another crooner’s revelation,
carefully placed in my side view,
a string, a solo, a word or two.
(you were right about everything)
you were right about everything.