A Study in Bullshit

"God doesnt make mistakes"

i heard that earlier tonight,
and i thought, bullshit.

Cobwebs Soul & Stars

I am drunken with delirium;
a sentiment brought on by watching you, imagining the way you saw the room tonight. was the shade of flame the same shade that i saw bouncing off your skin?

was the bass as out of tune for you as it was for the woman sitting next to me, foot bouncing feverishly, as though horny and frustrated? did the wine taste as red as it look'd?

i watched you recreate life on a scrap of repurposed oxygen, and what a window! that pianist had twentytwofingers!
but of course he did!
how could i not see that?
What was i wearing?
did i spill any whisky or mouthwash into my beard?

I ran away to the bathroom for a respite of too many thoughts, too many lingerings and i was haunted by all the musicians doing dope and crossword puzzles; lines of coke and playing backgammon, figuring out the imperial evidence necessary to prove that you and i were there for a reason.

Perhaps not.
Perhaps the lavender i saw was a reflection of the wailing sirens i witness'd just as the drummer let one go and bop bam pat pat pat zing,
did you see that?

i know you did.
You told me so when the radio was off
and your voice carried, broke, then continued,
all the while i was wondering: when was the last time you sang for someone? when will you sing for me again?

do you hear this as a song?
shall i keep singing?

Wintertime as Isolation

been spending time throwing parties, punches, throwing away needless memories throwing fits of misanthropic festivities;
somewhere in all of this, i stare out my window seeing only trees.
Leavves falling.
Falling leaves.
Everything (re: everyone) leaves.

The leaves donot fall in a picaresque singularity; instead they fall in clumps, showing me that one needs to be a part of something in order to be remembered.

Through the wall i hear child's laughter. Either the television is on and what i hear is a recording, or the little girl next door is excited for dad to have come home. And all the while i can't stop thinking about the marmalade i never bought at the little shop round the corner from yours.

I am no closer to reliving yesterday than I am to forgetting tomorrow.

In Defense of Antithetical Illusions

Fragmented muses dance in
stolen silence, hindering an inability
to conquer myself's fear.

humbled is too strong a word,
and yet, here i am,
waiting for time to go on -- to continue;
to take me by the hand,
to listen to what i do not say out loud.
as children we cried when appropriate,
now, we tear up in empty theatre halls, film playing steadily, and yet i'm unawares
of anyone anything,

unaware to the couple sitting next to me at the bar, fighting

giving up on each other

too afraid to look into the other's eye,
because they'll see what was once good, and what still might be could be and very well is, and instead look around, at all the "possibilities"

thinking that happiness might exist in another lousy drink, over dimly lit candles, with someone they havenot yet met.
Or, what's worse, they think that their misery is more worthy of a story;

they think fourty years into nothing,
imagining themselves imagining running into someone they once loved, leaving thinking,

"what if"
& "if only"

fuck this and fuck that.

i tremble -- the world is collapsing at its edges and its core,
everyone i love comes to mind;
you, enter stage left,
and i freeze,

please be well.

A Study In What We Cannot Change

You once asked
me

to not make
you

a story; so i made you my future,

then You decided to not
be My future.

All i can do now
is make you a story.

A Study in This Moment

I am not ready for yo
u

To fall
in

Love with
Someone

that is
not
me

Passion.

Tonight

I feel in fine spirits
And for that reason your face comes to mind (clear as day),
as though you were still laying next to me;
i find your scent as though it were the compass pointing me Home,

and yet in the darkness of consciousness you are no closer to me than the end

and i am caught shaking yearning vacant elated tempted and devastatingly holy.

Bring me the water from the well you spit up. I won't drink it, but i'll keep it under my bed, just waiting for my final moment of lucid-ness:

One last drop,
and i'll surrender to the Universe

the way i did when you decided to walk in to my life; i only pray that i am capable of being that awake and that aware again.