january 24th

My world is stacked in bars of light.

On the highway, everything turns gold

And my body is hurtling through space

15 of my own lengths a second.

Over a white boxtruck with graffiti

At its ribs, the sun doesn't hurt anymore—

My retinas burn and what was a storm that took

Over the city simmers off.

Even though I’m going somewhere,

I’m here.

The door is always open here,

Cool winter stopping by to pay respects

Where I keep reminding him

“you do not live here”

but he does.

Why can we hurt the ones we love?

Thanksgiving over smashed potatos,

Talking into earbuds while riding a bicycle

Into work, standing 3 feet away in the kitchen

Not looking at each other.

It doesn’t make sense to me.

Maybe it’s all those tabs of acid

Or maybe it is just grief

Or stress or lack of sleep

But my world is stacked in bars of light

And the bulbs have gone out

One by one, so that on the hill

Where the city winks and wiggles,

Stuff is not so clear.

like

Are we supposed to be alone?

Why is the world build of things

With nothing in between?

Slats of light and dust crawling through

The air, an empty envelope

with ragged edges, red sox

mug with crusted yogurt and a silver spoon,

Sheets stained with soy sauce and cum,

Books leaning wounded against each other

On the floor, black shoes with worn soles.

Eileen myles asks repetitively and

With a bit of distain “am i

Alone tonight?”

Come greek tragedy chorus

In multiple octaves, disharmonic

And over the tiles of some distant bathroom

Where you spit into the toilet bowl because you are drunk,

Come labor intensive small tasks

In which we might for but a second forget our—

Like when trying to put up a poster I fold

My lips tight over four thumbtacks

And one stabs deep into the skin.

Here here here. Always here.

With eliot water, Gertrude fish,

When I was falling in love

It was green leaves.

Damn but it’s hard.

I wish I could pack a tent

And an ax and a book

And enough water

And a solar charger for my phone

And some of my favorite foods

And a few friends

And my recently deceased grandfather

And myself as a 13 year old football player

And everyone I’ve ever loved

And just head into the woods for a while,

Figure it out.

But with everything happening so fast,

And with every city cutting left to get open,

And with that door still open,

And with my eyes that won’t let me sleep open

I don’t know if I’m going to figure it out.

If what I did today was right.

I don't know. It’s hard to go on

Knowing that.

Things end. And at some point,

The poetry stops and there is just that

For a while.