Finished my beer halfway through
Thinking of blooming mushrooms in colored light
Kissing her or stroking the fuzz on his head
He is so proud of or trying desperately to change.
By the end he whimpers and I am stuck thinking
In the dark room how much closer to this he is.
My life designed around shoring up against the real darkness
Of satisfaction by work or art. It will still be ok
Overworked, underpaid, an argument against guilt,
An argument against any one argument for life.
Next will be a manhattan and when the whiskeys done
Tequila or maybe the expensive stuff 2 floors up.
I am wanting to leave Philadelphia, not the place
But what it has come to mean of where I stoop down
To meet other people. They are not down there.
DFW as Jason segel nervous panning to outborder
The adversary that is not the interviewer,
He is uncharacteristically honest I think
Impractical for any human to be that anxious and so secure
In their way of life.
Today I woke up late and wiped down the refrigerator
Made my calls to ask what people were willing to give
To destroy the things that hurt us
Then sat in a room berated, only
Being able to think of my dying grandfather.
“this is a crisis>”
isn’t that addictive? Let’s get the great fix.
She is out there thinking of me with another man,
Waiting to call, waiting for my cock in her mouth,
She gets wet thinking about it. She sneaks into the bar bathroom
To send me a picture. This is a new conquering,
Something dark and yellow I am not proud of hidden like a kernel
Inside the life I am building up. I always seem to find them.
Taking our time, paul walks into the other room
I hear him pacing upstairs wanting to give me the space.
Does he hope writing here in the dark
Will grow like the weeds out back in the dead leaves
Or is it deeper and more loving even than a man like me can imagine?
Not about changing me, but seeing what it is that is happening
In the distinct clarity of his life and thinking
The poems on my blog have been seen 3 times now
And it is hard to imagine the fear of anything
A reader might say, or what touring might be like
When resigned to the flat field of snow deep in the woods
And walking in what I hope is a straight line out
I think of ryan testing out his hiking gear
Or john learning drums in 2 years or nate knowing he will be famous
Or kb with directing the labor movement or jo with being honest every time
Or my mother with caring in very specific ways
Or pauls voice emotional and discerning and constantly going
And in a very deep way I am envious.
I have walked these woods a long time
And forget the pathways.
For this deep gut feelings, hollow and whole,
Something important happening
And questioning every which way I might go.
Knowing this is not a fraction of the capacity each of them has
To voyage, to go out and find
The novel, the job, the life.
For the crisis of this that I want to take way down into the center
Of my soul, I have no metaphor.
And the things remind and the things forget
And whether done or doing or if it sits here and gets washed out
I am proud of their bravery and slowly, more quietly
I am proud of mine too.