a list of things

I love (one of several)

 

Jake

knowing Jake is happy

summertime

skiing

John Stewart

art

Tasha

feeling liked

being warm

my bed

feeling loved

feeling wanted

feeling useful

being a good caretaker

feeling accomplished

writing

typing

cooking

people enjoying my cooking

Christmastime

Dervishiii

weed

Karin

having my shoulders rubbed

good photography

Mad Men writing

a movie that makes me cry

taking good care of myself

feeling understood

the internet

animals

gadgets

having online friends

being home after a long night at work

having cash in my pocket

mashed potatoes

Jake’s art

feeling respected

jokes

my little lamb friend

a great kisser

snow storms

time off of work

being with people I like at the holidays

a rum drink at the holidays

sleeping on the couch when I’m sick

that picture I took of the birds flying around in the pink sky

reminding myself of how tiny earth is

reminding myself that we are all made of stars

Jake’s forehead

laughing

laughing with Jake

once i knew a girl

she was named Brooklyn
and she had bruises
that were your signature
what do you do after the x wears off?
“more x!!”
but it was 9am and the sun was blazing
not that any of us cared
but me with my teeth to your neck
insisting i was not jealous

except, i was

something for a day that is real

I’d love nothing more
than to be totally carefree
to be light and have laughter
like someone who is authentically charming
I’d like to approach myself
with easy hands
and have discussions about
how amazing it is we live so close to a star
how when you really think about it
space, earth, moon, sun
is all so perfect with possibilities
that the dark matters I allow
don’t really mean a damn thing

I can’t seem to help myself from burning things

I am writing in my blue book for you
secrets I’ve kept all along
terms of negotiable contact
I am a hider, a silent stepper
I spend all the days
knowing the contents of your thoughts
and his and hers, and hers
because it’s easier to blame

just like everybody does

every time I remember your name
I carve it into the wax
but it always melts, you know

on identifying with Pluto, (which is no longer a planet)

what would I talk about
if I didn’t have you to write to?
with all your rules and judgments
and pronouncements on the word

who would I be?

what would I think if
I didn’t have a you in my head
to speak to
each day, each second
you watch over me
and criticize the impulses
you screech nasty when I’m down
you soothe soft when I’m up
but always with your voice
I’m scrambling the scale

who would you be
if there was no traitor at the start?
just some observer
a silent witness noticing
my human-ness
somebody nice
calm, easy
non
conflicted

?

today’s thought

it’s fairly convenient to have an alcoholic as a
father when you don’t get to meet him until you are 21
huh, ironic age too
oh, and I was a bartender at the time
and that is where he came to meet me, at work
funny

lunchtime meditation

lately I am sifting through
my perception of your elements
breathe in
breathe out
have I mentioned that
my memory is uncanny?
deep breath in
out
and in between us
is a perfect piece that expands
made of the dust of you
and me and light and history
I breathe in
breathe out
and trust you
do the same
exactly now
this spark is also
made of the things
we always knew
like the timing
is completely
flawless
now
and I think
again
my breath
in
out
in

and out

you said if I could be anything I would be the moon

back before I understood gratitude

did you know I spent an entire cycle
feigning sleep along the edge of your bed
just willing your body to rest against my shadows?

on the 28th day when you came to me
it was the perfect goodbye
I wonder if you hear me now
after 9 years have grown by
do you hear me?

I am saying hello

the shape of my heart

is not the right one
for valentines
we’ve learned to lie
with our paper
cut-outs
the even-ing out
of two sides
as if making love
neat and pretty
will help us to catch it
but inside my chest
is a mess of red hiding pink
uneven and bulbous
just waiting for someone
to smooth it over
see it bare
until all the ugly
is only something
we used to be afraid of

dreaming on the impending sunshine

you must imagine yourself to be soft
as the butter in its dish
from the counter tops of 1982
and open as the sky
I look up to every fourth of July
or whenever I notice I’ve lost something
but what if I’m like your mirror
and really you are just as tough
and unfraying as the hemp
tying up my wind chimes all these years
and closed up tight, sleeping
like all pretty flowers before their bloom