Meditations on Letting Go - 09/09/13

I:
But if you ask the same of me,
I'd say,
"Never have been,
never will be,
but learning to live
with the consequences
and find stability."
So, by pale yellow light
reflected off bronze
that I can't believe
doesn't move when I look away,
I guess I meditate
with aid of orange juice
God never returned
slipping through my fingers
and trapped lyrics
dripping from my lips.
Sprinkler systems sputter
into white noise
intermittently broken by
passing feet and chatter
and crickets and humming
and an occasional direct address,
drawing my thoughts away
from the cobweb down
Jesus' bronze back
and to an even more
unfamiliar face.
Because:
"No, it's fine,"
and
"Sure, I've got time,"
but
"Just let me check up
on one thing,"
to confirm my bias
and push my mind
to draw reaching palms
from grooves in
rusticated stone.

Still, I am sure
that if I glance away
Jesus will reach to me
and explain,
"God left to get some orange juice,
but that was years ago.
It's time to grow up
and buy your own,"
as if it's a lesson
that I don't know.


II:
I wonder if anyone goes home
to write a poem
about meeting a
strange girl
meditating
on a statue
way too late
at night.


III:
Wine glass full of
soon forgotten
memories and
streetlights raining
parametric down
conversion from
birefringent crystals
in your mind,
fast and slow
axes indistinguishable.

Blunt - 05/18/13

What's a poem ever going to say that you would want to hear, that you would perk up to, that you would wrap in a napkin and slip out of the restaurant to examine later, dainty words on satin or hasty verse on paper, on trash, on the back of a checklist of important things I ran from for fear of failure.  For fear of success?  Words I threw out the back of my mind because they could never be answered or threw out my lips because any more thoughts would only have made them worse.  Blunt words like broken plastic on soft flesh, startling, stinging, strange.  Yet I can't imagine why that metaphor must be the one to come to mind when, I swear, I'm health and happy and better, though even more so with you.  Because I don't need any more heart-broken albums on repeat, but I downloaded all the ones you sent me to, every song you said you loved, but not because you loved them, not because I loved them either, but because it worked out that we both did.  Because you listen to the songs I loved and heard the magic pluck of strings and tap of cymbals with the s's of the lyrics and the poetry lamented to dark symphonies.  Because each thought in your head is alone worthy of love and all of them woven together as your mind, as your soul, well, damn, where do I even begin to begin to beg each readers and listener to let their heart swell with each soft sentence that rambles from your lips and blush when they realize it's sly compliments that they should be scared they can't live up to but aren't because, hell, just because you wouldn't lie to them, now would you?  Because brainy is the new sexy and book recommendations are the new flirtation and song lyrics are monologues that fit my thoughts too perfectly to be sung.  Because you sing, little snip-its of old songs and sad songs and love songs.  Because you watch sad movies and I swear that I don't but I also swear that I'm Vulcan and I think you and I can both guess how much you can trust my swears but who cares?  Because in a few minutes I'll have thought of something a thousand times better to say, the right moves, the right song in the background, the right hand gestures and heaves of my shoulders.  Because it will be too late, so I might as well be blunt.

Because you make me want to write poems, which has never been a good thing before.

Photon - 02/01/13

I feel like a photon,
light:
massless,
unconstrained,
free.

Yet full:
infinite,
stable,
existing across all time
and no space,
everywhere and when.

I feel like a photon:
light and full.

As I wander,
I am going
nowhere and anywhere,
with all the time
in my frame.

If I could feel
each separate atom
I am comprised of,
would I feel
me?

But I do not feel
in Newtonian systems
but as strings of events:
a bend in the knuckle
to a wrinkle in the finger,
to a twitch in the forearm,
to a soreness in the shoulders,
to a stiffness in the neck,
to a freedom in the mind.

I feel me
all at once.
Like a photon.

Light and full.

Wish Granted - 01/30/13

Some  sensual, level woman,
leaning calmly against an aqua bus stop sign,
brilliant aubern hair contrasting,
taking a long, thoughtful look
at the twists and turns of the road,
looked at me
as I paused
and looked at her

and we both said,
"Hello."

The City/My Soul - 11/25/12

I can hear my heart beat
in the city at night,
the rush of wind
over the river
is the pulse of my blood;
the clang of metals
in the distant industrial area,
the opening and closing
of ventricles;
the hum of traffic,
busy capillaries.

I can see my mind running
in the city at night,
radio towers twinkling
are my neurons firing;
satellites flying and falling,
thoughts conflicting;
the rippled water
reflecting distant images
chiaroscuro,
sums up
my being.

The Hardest Part of Packing Up - 8-12-12

It's like
plucking a memory
from the
soft tissue
under
my bone.
Pulling sounds and songs,
twisting whispers and words up
to be piled neatly and sorted through.
Which to keep,
which to leave behind,
which to recycle.
The synapses that hold
them together
all shoved in a tiny tack box.

It's like plucking a memory,
pulling down my posters from Cross Fit,
cards from birthdays and valentines,
invitations to parties,
paintings and doodles
by me and dear friends,
withered flowers from ex-boyfriends
and neighbors
and parents
and friends,
trinkets,
Pokemon cards,
awards for math and science and poetry,
schematics,
blueprints of spaceships,
images of the cosmos,
hearts, brains, photographs,
magazine clippings,
membership cards,
album covers from old LPs,
clocks, stickers,
and the model of an atom
that I nicked from my chemistry class
in Sophomore year
on the day Mayer didn't come to class.

Open This Soul - 12/07/11

Open this soul
Run a scalpel down the chest
And reveal the toll
The world has impressed
On a young and simple soul.
Open this soul
And reveal a cage
Shaped from a mold
Of the heart it traps
And holds.
Open this soul
And free these words
That none have heard,
Not even the body’s
Own ears.
Open this soul
And let the years
Of silence fill
The caged soul
The tears and fear
Of the moments that escaped
In those silent years.
Open this soul
And heave the monster out,
Remove its chains,
Its shackles,
Its restraints,
And let it more about.
Open this soul
And let sunlight tame
The bites and slashes
Of the monster’s rage.
Open this soul
And free insanity
In a way never meant to be.
Open this soul
And show the mind
That there is no need to hide
From monsters
Locked deep inside.
Open this soul
And see
That emotions do not start
As beasts
But transform
When given only darkness to eat.
Do not
Open this soul.

She's Very Pretty From Far Away - 10/15/11

This has probably been said,
in a previous poem,
but on dreary nights
such as this,
when I return to old poems
with a gloomy music backdrop,
I relive those
feelings, those
thoughts, those
moments of futile sadness.
It is in those bleak moments
that I come to understand
why he wouldn’t want to talk to me,
the real reason I don’t care about prom,
the best course of action
in my social life.

Maybe I was meant to be
a scientific poet,
mixing physics equations
into verse
and observing love from
a cold neutron star
light years from the feelings.
Dead stars don’t care
if you’re awkward, or nervous,
or helplessly sad.
Dead stars don’t worry
and stand back when they see
your dark thoughts.
Dead stars don’t feel,
it’s as simple as that.
Dead stars don’t care,
can’t.

Should I accept that fate?
Should I step away from the scene,
float back to the star,
watch his movements
and never speak up?
Something keeps nagging
that I should,
telling me it’s best
but for once I can’t figure out
who it is.
Certainly not the heart.
And the mind is lonely
and bored
and overrun with hormones.
And the soul is
exasperated and sad.
The body’s voice is obvious,
if obnoxious.
So who is saying no?
Who bites my lip until it scars
and says “Never, never, never”?

There’s a part of me
that doesn’t want
to be happy.
I don’t write very well when I’m cheerful.
All my fantasies
are smeared with blood.
All my thoughts follow suit.
And my only dreams
are horror scenes.

I know that part,
wherever, whoever it is,
I know it is wrong.




So why do I listen?

Crushed By Nothingness- 08/29/11

What do you say to the stars?
What do you say
When they see your scars?
What do you do when their light bombards
The cracks in your head
You’ve been hiding so hard?
And how
Do you
Ever come back
From the black hole’s trap
Once you’ve seen such darkness?
How do you live
With the pretty, rich kids
Who smile with softness?
Where do you go
When the sad music plays?
Does your head spins out of control
For days?
When the vacuum takes you,
Where do you stand?
Firm on the stars
Or sinking in the sand?

Wherever There Is Love - 06-20-11

Wherever there is love
Being picked up from the ground
Being reach out to
Being called for
Being brought back around
Wherever there is love
There will be apathy
And insincerity
On a slide show reel
Of the heartbreak
You’re about to feel

Wherever there is hope
In every place sun brightens
There will be shadows
And monsters
Waiting to bite them
The ones who step out of the light
How they were frightened
Brought to their knees
And you’re beginning them “Please!
What happened to put out
The light in your heart?”

It was just one second
Away from the sun’s rays
It was just one second
In the monster’s gaze
It was just one second
Reveling the world’s ways

It took away your hope
It took away your memories
All the good times with family
Every friend you’ve ever loved
Every boy you’ve ever hugged
And replaced them
With shadows and monsters

It just took one second
Away from the sun’s ray
It just took one second
In the monster’s gaze
It just took one second
Seeing the world’s true ways

Every single good thing inside you
Every time you didn’t let
The darkness bite you
The cold chill of winter
Puts out the flame in your heart
What a way to start
The summer

Don’t you know what’s comin’ to her?
Hasn’t said a word
About her soul
In weeks
Actin’ so strong
But really, she’s weak
Cuz she stepped in the shadows
Out of the sun’s rays
Stepped in the shadows
In the monster’s gaze
Stepped in the shadows
Saw the world’s true ways
Stepped in the shadows
Threw her soul away

Now wherever there is love
Wherever there is beauty
All the girl can see
Is apathy
Insincerity
Oh, World, what did you do to me?
How could I have been so deceived?
Show me the light and I’ll call it sunshine
Show me darkness and I’ll see the light

Red and White - 06-08-11

Step naked out of the steam,
pruned fingers shrivel,
feet curl,
lashes flick off crystals
of hydrogen and oxygen.
And your reflection in the mirror,
of one eye red with crying
and the other white with lying,
looks like madness
brought perfectly to life
by brush strokes
ruining beautiful white canvas,
madness pushed forth
with the strength of self hatred,
harbored beneath a polarized lens
that shields from your view.
One eye red with crying,
the other white with lying.
A clown's mask,
splintered,
torn and ripped,
jagged down my face.
You can trace the lines with a nail.
Zig there,
zag here.
Point to point,
perfectly straight lines
on an imperfectly warped face.
The hum of the bathroom fan
melodious and continues,
dependable like waves on a beach,
repetitive,
repetitive,
repetitive.
Hot, pink cheeks
hitting cold, stiff air,
cascading into stormy pain.
Whisper to me,
whisper to yourself,
speaking strange words
of a strange mind
that drowns in salty water.
One eye red from crying,
the other white from lying,
What a sight to see
on my own face.

The Edge of the Universe - 06-07-11

Let me just try to explain
The changes in my brain
The shift in the synapses
The rearranging of the road

Sit alone,
On the edge of the universe,
Looking out.
What do you see?
Probably nothing,
You can’t see anything
Beyond what exists.
But I can.
I have found the right lens
The right glasses
The right perspective
That allows the images
That are just beyond the edge of the universe
To filter into my brain.

This used to be what drove me insane,
Trying to see what wasn’t there
Trying to image what I couldn’t fathom
Trying to hear smells,
Taste light,
See sound.

Mr. Meursault
Thought to kill a man
For the sun.
He shrugged at the guillotine,
His long face still unemotional,
The crowd cheering hate.
I held my tongue and waited.
Listened.
Sat still as Siddhartha on the river,
Listening to the trickle of rememory,
All the different generation blended
Into a single reflection,
Reflecting himself.
Patient in the countryside,
Clara sat at her desk and wrote,
And waited for the right time to speak,
To use her voice.
Patient in the plains,
Ida sat before the screen,
And kept her powerful story
For the end, the climax.
Patiently in the ice,
Shukov lived one more day.
I listened,
Patiently,
Quietly,
Hidden behind musty pages
And fictional titles.
Observing what was beyond
The edge of the universe.

I Wish I Was a Whore - 02/23/11

Some skinny little skank,
leaning callously against a blue bus stop sign,
her fake red hair contrasting,
taking a long, brutal drag
off a bummed cigarette;
looked at me as I passed and said,
"You're wrong, girl."

I stopped, in my orange tennis shoes,
my fading jeans,
my tangled hair lazily assembled because what matter was
what was underneath it.
I stopped because she said I was wrong
and I was going to be a physics major,
and I was in the
amazing, stupendous, rigorous, monumental,
over-hyped IB,
and I was good at tests.

I stared at her seductive clothes,
clinging perfectly to her curved body,
like she was a store mannequin come to life,
like she was made to look good.
She used two painted nails
to throw the cigarette to the curb
and black, shiny heals
to stomp out the flame.
She exhaled smoke and perfume and said,
as she breathed,
"You're wrong, girl."

Buses come to that stop
with a irregularity
that makes my mechanical heart twitch
like it's organic.
But she stood there,
leaning,
breathing,
inky eyes cast down the street
with a carelessness
that must be what makes sex sound so good.

"You're wrong, girl,
because you know, but you don't understand.
You don't wait:
you jump in on the lab before you know how to do it.
You don't stop:
if it's written, it's written, and you're turning it in.
But you're wrong,
because you are good at taking tests,
but you've never been tested.
Because you're smart,
but you've never smarted.
Because you actually have,
and you won't admit it,
Because you're not a physics major,
you're a poet in denial."

The Best - 02/06/11

Starlight.
Brilliant bands of hope
Radiating from what might be already dead stars
And yet still shining
Glowing
Illuminating the nights
On which we throw tear ridden eyes to the heavens
For a sign

“Do I continue?”
“Am I good enough?”
“What’s the point?”



I want to be the best.
The very best.
I don’t care what at.

School is out of the question.
Years of striving for a
4.0
Brought down
Like a house of cards.

I’m not the best friend.
I’m a liar.
Sorry to disappoint,
But I’m not actually
“fine.”

I thought I could be the best
Girlfriend.
Loving, tender, helpful, horny.
What more could a guy want?
But I’m needy.
And clingy.
And not the best.

And then
One tournament
I got a first place.
True, it was in a room of novices.
True, I couldn’t beat anyone with experience.
True, I wasn’t the best of the best.

But I was the best.

That thought flooded my mind
And the tears stopped,
Mid-roll.

But I was the best.

The starlight lit up on the cloudy night
Curled up next to me
Whispered with the delicacy of a lover

But I was the best.

The starlight held me there with it,
One of its own,
Its kin,
Alike to it,
Part of it,
Accepted,
Welcomed,
Loved.

 But starlight disappears behind the clouds,
Behind eyelids,
Behind quick words.

Starlight fades to hurt,
To pain,
To sadness,
To emptiness with her neck craned to the sky,
Waiting for the stars to return

Sweet and Sour Lullaby - 11/14/10

I’ve got
One song
For the way I’m always feeling
Hollow and kneeling
Overcome, but dealing

It’s a sweet and sour lullaby
The kind that makes me cry
The kind that makes me smile wide
The kind that make me hurt inside

Tried and true
This is what it comes to
This one soul
That it feels like I stole

With a voice so light
For words so dark
That strike a spark
In any heart
That listens

If it’s destruction
Your reluctance
Is seeking this evening
Then you’re in luck
Here, it comes easy