I hate to watch, the shit I say and do

Grow and explode on: this Jackson Pollock truth

You’re moving on, with someone two-years-more new

The job’s done, it’s been overdue: we’re finally through

And I miss you, but I don’t

All for the charades, your every movement’s faked

While you stay mute

To counteract my overactive mouth

Degrading, negating, debating you

But for no use

‘Cause you’re deaf as dumb now

That I left, but you turned that around

Calling me out like I’m the traitor

Though I doubt I’ve any better behavior

But I jumped ship, against my own wishes

Any other year or month, I’d already be drying off

Or wouldn’t have dove at all

But I’m still drowning

Captain shouting, “Aren’t you gonna save her?”

So business-geared, you’re nonchalant

As you say, “Yeah, okay, I’ll do it later”

I hate this town, the same people who

Want to go down, while I’m hung up on you

So I sleep alone now, but that might not be true

Ignore and avoid and accuse and doubt

We’ve made it so obvious we’re through

And I miss you, but I don’t

Once got lost inside your house, for only knowing it by dark

I was stitching closed mouths; you, throwing away whole hearts 

Followed you to the ocean, to the forest, to the stars

You were hollow, too, and you noticed

But refuse to accept the moments that’re ours

So did you decide that you’d never again find

After scotching, watching die

All love between me and you

Before or after we made love yet another time

Violent vice in your eyes

One lazy summer afternoon?

We’d even broken up, months before this

Speaking of: I was first to change direction

Quit and run, to just sleep off our endless shit

A first for you, wasn’t it?

What is it with us, and sex on Sundays?

You’re mumbling more excuses

‘Cause I’ve yet to see things your way

I hate living next door, the unavoidable running-in-tos 

Shifting weight, looking sicker, in ever-running shoes 

‘Til earthquakes rip the floor, from how uneasily you move

Our past is impure, our future assumed

Presently, you want nothing more

To do with me, to do with you

And you were the cure, but I infected you

We are just a blur, crashing head-on in to

Success and moments happier

Lest should I reintroduce:

Kisses everywhere, mixed by emotions unclear

Showing no signs of fear

Cheating with— never on— each other

Dropping names and hints and jeans and dollars

Pissing off adults, our school, the world

Keeping on, staying low, getting down, and moving forward

Bad jokes and worse intentions

Nonsense, punk-rock, arguments, and adolescence

They weren’t wrong to warn, against letting me assume

That heart and head and those hands of yours

‘Cause when I go out, I’ll take you down, too

But backing off, after having been burned

Was such a stupid thing to do

Speak through your teeth, looking stern

Lie, sigh, hang up, put a foot down

Build a wall between us, break every promise sworn

Then tell me in furious sounds

That we’re through

Because I miss you, but I don’t

Won’t admit to—

Well, I hate sounding desperate

Like you hate seeming vulnerable

But we’re just too damn honest

So here’s to us both being uncomfortable

As I’m on my knees, you can’t look at me

I still make your heart lose control

Just not for good reason, anymore

I’m the last best you’ll ever see

A first for you, I know

And you hate that I miss you

‘Cause you don’t, won’t admit

I know— everyone knows— how you hate it

Try to hide it with a nervous laugh

Which shows you know, too:

You miss me back

But you won’t let that be, enough to see us through

Because we’re done—but no, I’m not through with you

You’re over me, I just miss you—

But you’re not, and I don’t

Or I am and you do

There’s no common regret we’d all rather forget
But we’ve, each, surely them, stitched in to our pasts—
And the more time spent wishing time might turn back,
The less chance to be had of turning it in to a laugh

By tomorrow, the world’s going to change
I can feel it in my bones, in dreams, in my veins
We’ll all be Who We Are, not again Who We Were
But kept to keep on keeping on— 
Said to keep it on the up and up
While we can fashion time— 
We’ve the rest of our lives, to rule the world

Be young and in love and let it show
Dear, take off that insecurity coat
Stop wasting worries on the cold,
When it’s so Summer, outside the window
Let every success run straight to your head
We only see just where we are— where we stand—
When we know where it is, that we want to go

But the clouds will eat us, swallow us whole
At least that’s their belief: Living, then giving soul
To Heaven in the attic— or Hell in the basement:
Where the firemen ravel to rescue the children
Where sunshine blooms when it’s due at Horizon
And where I always move at evening yawn’s end

I claim my fame in broken hearts
Tidal waves and hopeless stars
The better-days-stained, antique crashed cars
Lonely people in lonely bars
Picking their black lungs apart
With each new drink they sink, restart
But I’ve a miracle, wherever You are

And you’re beautiful as you make your mark
By the crinkle of eyes, sighs filtering to laughs
Do adore us intertwined in every hour after dark
We’re the future for— or at— the moment
On a crash course for the black unknown and
There’s just no stopping how Tomorrow reacts

But know it won’t be in ways we’d rather forget

Ignorance precedes lack of sense, inflicts bystanders hard
Bred from absence and abstinence—
As is the instance:
Uninterested in ‘young adult nonsense’,
Blonde children, six to ten, climb neighbor’s fence
One by two, skin-for-shoes, off in pursuit of new trick—
By watch of: the man in love with the moon
For the stolen sunshine it reflects against the room—

He collected unsure last laughs, set shot-sure half-tasks
And pinned them against the calendar—
Claimed time is just a metaphor:
Fine line of mountain-sky shore 
Where one’s breath will surely stop
Before one rests, or purely gives up

Somewhere along the tea cups, and coffee stains,
Free love, with purchase of nine-to-five days,
Dance halls lined in photo frames—
Shattered windows, battered widows
Keeling indelicate, reeling with inebriate sway . . .
Can you recall when you were kind?

Was there ever such a time?

His sister died a scholar,
Windshield wrapped tight ’round her collar
And his, when hanging up her lows
Found wearing a grin, framed in reined rope
Fashioned to a tree branch in neighbor’s yard

You seem to sound similar to such of slight
That I heard in some early hours of the late night,
Woven through the friction of skin and twisted sheets—
It’s not that I don’t sleep, I’ve just the saddest dreams

I’m what you want, just not what you need
So forgive me if I’m not patient, subtle or easy
And for getting flustered by being your lone lover
But watching you torture yourself by skirting nature’s fell wonders

I’ll wait until we fall out of what I feel I pushed you in
Not a complaint at all, mostly as I know this won’t see such end
You’re far too stubborn, even at your unhappiest
My heart’s set on summer, to let you leave me rendered breathless

I’ve found the sweetest days come from the most bitter of nights
Worlds of words won’t waken deaf ears, but no sleeping flesh can repress a bite

And the way we’re getting on —or: keeping on, rather—
Letting us like feeling one another
Sings me this sigh when I swallow a “why”, swing my stare to the side
Toward your aged sage eyes —only old by their weight as wise—
Heavy on mine, swindling tries to pry my heart high from lips tight 
But something soft climbs my spine, light like some sprite
Of happy heights, on childhood vines

And sunshine— you, you’re mine:
You’re silken honey, sweet red wine;
Seasons and slurs and Shakespeare and sorrows seen sore-eyed—
Serendipitous Sir, you speak what I think;
I’m what you were—
but off beat, out of time—

You were Always but not Only
‘Til you saw that love was lonely
And somehow I was what could make you happy
But did the fairy tale twist in to quiet-romantic misery?

Fell asleep last night to sounds of a history
And I could’ve sworn it was you singing to me
Woven through the friction of skin and twisted sheets—
It’s not that I don’t sleep, I’ve just the saddest dreams

Because I do still hold the memories I keep
Take to heart those words more than most anything
But not the grandest promise, nor honest streak
Will retrace to the first day my heart did break on me

And hold you back when you start to say what you don’t mean
And kiss my eyes ‘fore they can cry— because it’s hard to keep vision clean
When your firm stance and furious glance, are all that I see

But the way we’re getting on —or: keeping on, rather—
Letting us like feeling one another
Sings you that sigh when I swallow a “why”, swings your stare to the side
Toward my brash ash eyes —only bold by their world wide—
Heavy this time, swindling tries to pry my heart high from lips tight 
But something soft climbs my spine, light like childhood vines
‘Round our arms in some warm, insipid wind

And lovely as bright: you, you’re mine—
You’re sunshine

From the corner of the conscious 
of even the most corrupt in conscience 
the conclusion is contrived: 
creative coos coordinate the cons 
by combination, as copious cravings—
such as for capacity to first 
craft from coal 
a crackling fire— 
to combat the captivity 
of those conforming to capers, 
continuously lead them 
to come for the company of craziness.

———————————————————————————

With the confidence of an army 

but the modesty of its country— 
as the sorrow of a parting sweetens in savoring that freed— 

I’ve miles of inches to write by my step; 
smile, Love’s witness— 
chased by worlds of memories but with respect for the race, 

graced by placing, high ranking— 
gratitude for such great competition. 

So to those with peace on their lips 
but war hitched to their hips: 
though ill-equipped, 

I march on.

———————————————————————————

And above her head, on the branch most near, 
a sparrow did alight—
where note of her envious glances 
warranted notice from he: 
“Owning faith in these arbitrary forces—
submission evident by such renting of feathers— 
permits one’s grounding; 
Instead of wasting time fashioning contraptions
to your shoulder blades on hopes that such 
would throw you toward the sky, 
realize: 
It is not a lack of wings which 
disallows you from flight, 
but rather your having the ability 
to believe in— and there, thus be 
affected by— gravity.”

Notice there is no make or model on your card
But some baggage and past masked by the riddles in your eyes
Plotted along coveted curves, carves of your stars
What history of cold wars; what misery holds of old lies

Matched with machines of magazines loaded
By dreams for vindication long-devoted

As denoted by the hunger
Starving that last summer
Winding through all other
Things with which you’ve no time to bother

Such as the carcass of a lover
You’ve gnawed a thousand times over 
Till even you are raw at center
But you refuse to crawl a Sinner
As this season begs a winner
So runs can’t captivate splinters
Thus, you leave her on the street 
For a tropic heat to blister

O how I do know
You’re tired of hearing “sorry”
But as such things tend to go
Most just throw blame toward me
I should protest, against the blow
But apologies
For anything
Are so much the smoother than
Making a scene

And it’s not usually my fault, no
But can I not always have empathy?
Or would you rather me not show
Such the trust to console I carry?