end of the tour

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

“good.”

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.