POETRY

Photos taken and words written in April 2017. Killington, VT.

Frozen on this couch, I
Had to look. I had a feeling
You were that sneaky and I
Needed to see for myself.
I didn’t need a plant
Medicine to know that you’ve
Been cheating.
Cheating me out of my time,
Cheating me out of the promises
That you gave me – cheating
Me out of my ability to trust.
Just glued to these cushions
Because I’m afraid of the
String of wet cold that I’ll
Feel. Afraid that once given
Enough space it’ll all come
Rushing out and yet –
I’m still watching the sunrise,
Being affected by it, writing
But I’m half-assing it.
Just like you did.
Perhaps there’s something to that.
If I can out you, sure I’ll
Out myself.
I’m still checking my phone
For a hopeful response from
You. I’m still hoping
That you’ll find my message
Impressive. I’m still hoping
You’ll feel like an idiot for
Loosing me because loosing
Me was a choice that you
Made and although you
Baited me into letting
Go of all of our dreams,
We both know I hated
The taste of that worm.
The more I started to
Uncover about you, about
Her – about all the
Pitiful things you destroyed
Us over, the fatter that
Worm got. It was juicy,
Dripping in salvy slime,
And you hooked it well –
With the line itself
Since you know I hate the
Taste of blood anyways.
You dangled this helpless
Little worm in front of
My eyes, and force-fed
It with fat lies, fat tits
Fat lips and a fat ego.
You became its executioner,
And in dangling it where it
Brushed my lips, though you
Thought my eyes were closed,
You became its executioner
You became love’s executioner.

\

Photos taken and words written in April 2017. New York, NY.

Wipe off the tears. Look ahead
What you see in front of you is beautiful
Behind you, a baseball field.
A field less than a mile before that.
More fields in the area of your back
And you are so far away from the
Pitcher’s mound that you are not only
Not on first base, you’re not even sitting out.
Not even looking at the game. You’ve
Turned your Back on it. All of it.
All the games behind you and ignoring any
That potentially lay before you.
You’re out. Benched by choice.
All the movies show baseball
As a game of passion, you’ve gotta
Take risks, and get hurt to win.
The Sandlot was playing on my flight
Over. The Babe telling Rodriguez in
His dream to just hop over the fence,
And get that ball. He was telling him
To be fearless, to believe in himself
Above what all of some supposed
11 year-old logic was telling him.
We only know as much as our experience
And even sometimes then we ignore
The lessons and the red flags. Sometimes
Faith will get you like that. Not unlike
Now, where I keep trying to move forward
But as more memories fade into the
Background, this ache brings up an angst
That makes me want to stay fresh in
His mind, make his love stay fresh on mine.
So how do I become a legend like The Jet?
“Heroes get remembered, but legends never die.”
How do I grant myself solid gold, trophy status
That sits on a shelf of his memories as
Something that he once had and will
Always think fondly of? In loosing a place
In his life, I feel like I lost a part of myself.
I never told him that I never wanted to kiss
Him. I let myself be won over because something
Felt karmic about this meeting. It wasn’t
Just that we became a union, it was a reunion.
In forfeiting the game, I forfeit this control.
I can only know that I am a legend.
I’ve hopped over enough fences, and
Dodged enough beasts to prove it.
Trophy status isn’t up to me.

Sunrise Griffith Observetory

Photos taken and words written in March 2017. Los Angeles, CA.

First sunrise.
Feels like the end of a vampire phase:
No more last sunsets, only firsts.
This morning, this day,
Every day is now a first.
I try to look at it, to take it in,
But too much of a good thing will blind you.
The anticipation in the pink and blue,
The swelling up of joy from the
Perceived coming experience,
That once it peaks over the hills,
It’s majestic as fuck,
And this poem serves no purpose.
Except to be here as a sounding
Board for the first thoughts of
The first morning. The first morning
Sunrise. Is this enough?
I feel like I’m leaving something out.
Like how the gold pushes through
The cattail grass as the wind moves
It in a dance. Daybreaking through
The smog to create a new framework
That maybe Los Angeles can be
Heaven, if we fool ourselves into
Believing that the smog is clouds and the
Clouds are saving us and
Not actually destroying us.
Feeling the irony as these thoughts
Come as this series is meant to
Save myself from myself.
Feeling the irony as I sit in this
Car to write, a vehicle that is not
Mine. Because I am too cold
To do this on my own. With
The wind and everything else,
The suns rays just aren’t enough.
Neither is my hoodie. So I’ve got
His jacket on, sitting in his
Car. Allowing borrowed things to
Start something that is meant to
Help me heal from this past year.
Heal from this past year, heal
From the moment when I’ll have
To turn the keys in, take this
Jacket off, and move forward in
This series, alone.