I fear the drought will wither my purge
the cold months are to come, barren
Our hearts left as empty silos
to fall and fall and fall,
from unforgiving rafters:
There is no End to this.
A wheel of grave reproach
encroaching upon, grinding kernels
A cycle that is never ending,
and simultaneously never forgiving:
I am Never good enough.
Leave what is left for the bravest bees
let the fruit hang
let it be.
Withered as my hands
their reach always expanding.
Still at my worst I am forgiving,
and at my best I will be again.
October 4, 2014
I crave the breath of your words
for the way the tip of your tongue hits your teeth on the Spanish T
The long tomorrows will continue to come
as the sun hangs red and ominous over drought-stricken rolling hills
For the fever in your eyes
for the way you fuck and your fire
For the persistence that wins you everything you ever wanted
but leaves your belly never feeling full
I still crave and miss
your wild hair
and delicate wrists
The scrupulous nature
and the scalpelling out of every word
The crumbs on your newspaper
Thumbing through and reciting reviews
These words fall from me
like a soft slow ribbon
Some sort of solace
August 3, 2014
Repetition is something I am simultaneously freed and enslaved by I have almost entirely curbed the practice of envy If I am honest with myself I know this will all change again Currently I am existing in a dark stage but it is good I really needed it Largely this is an experiment in self-control I have a lot to think about right now and an innate appreciation for distraction I complicate things by finding too much meaning in them When I was a child I spent a lot of my time alone I can be obsessive when I care for something deeply It is hard for me to kill anything On occasion my morals can be convoluted There is not much I am afraid of I have a propensity for self-sabotage I have a difficult time trusting people I was raised by dishonest people I have a talent for forgiveness Forgiveness is a method of survival It is important to remember as much as possible I am not lonely at all I am sorting something complicated out that exists inside of me It is knotty and tangled tightly and when I get to the bottom of it I will be greatly relieved
Art from, “History of the True Cross”
In a church somewhere in Tuscany.
By: Pierro della Francesca
May 22, 2014
One day you will turn the knob of an empty faucet. Outside your window, the beautiful brown women, pushing prams of whitefaced others, they will be gone, back tending to the flocks of their own.
You will forget the taste of stone fruit, and dig through your memories for a love of the Sun. All flavors in the world will blend together, into some sort of sad fuzzy grey mound.
But for now it is beach blankets and sundresses by the diminishing lake. It is ephemeral referencing, and a carelessness about death. It is false fullness, eyes that cannot be looked into, and endless endless waste.
April 28, 2014
1. It was important to see you
and the lines of fatherhood
It was important to leave it this way
and not answer any questions
2. It was important to confirm
softness, the danger is real, voice
Everything could fall apart
at any time at all
3. I am so happy you are well
April 8, 2014
March 18, 2014
Listening to the sun & the birds come through
Today, while throwing out old flowers,
I saw a cherry tree volunteering
I freed it from the spiraling grasp of morning glories,
and the subtle little pricks of berry barbs
One teeny tiny thorn entered my index finger,
some sort of small reminder,
that everything has a price.