i hear it coming again, the broken again, the soft scatter of will never come back together: it holds longer for this sound, longer than for any other, the longest it has ever held.
i’m holding it together with bared knuckles and twine for her and i don’t know what it means when she keeps pushing and not moving back, not budging at all, and its cutting the tendon from the bone to the point where it isn’t worth holding together anymore.
i would have done anything for you, if you held it together for me, if you kept it safe. but no where is safe with you, nothing sacred or holy. anything is a target, as long as it can scratched and pierced and cleaved away. eveything is ripe.
it’s a new kind of something to see your life peel this way.
Category Archives: frags
abandoned pieces, fragments, scraps
my privacy
i had wished for fame and glory, at the very least, a long funeral procession.
you don’t want this
you don’t want this
you don’t want this anymore
or you don’t want this for now
have it put up on a shelf until you look at it again
and notice how dusty it’s become.
this thing between us is hardening, i’m in love with another statue
and everything can be broken, can’t you see
we’re breaking
and i want to scream at you to fix this
to put this here and that there
put it all the way it was
to put yourself the way you were
when you were still in love with me
i want to remember
i want to remember how you remember me.
if i hadn't
if i hadn’t then i would’ve and then something or other would’ve burst like a balloon filled with water, stale and poisonous, shot through the air like a stain, and we all would’ve wondered where did that boy once go? he had been filled with such hopes and aspirations. and i would’ve ducked under fire hydrants itching my knuckles and licking the curb, because enough really isn’t really enough with these fucking nightmares of jaundiced skin and tobacco fingers when i sure as hell don’t even smoke anymore.
and where’s the reset button, not restart, re-set, set all this to happen someplace else and if it doesn’t work out that time, set to happen all to someone else. someone who’ll learn how to live and not be the miserable mess of fat and flesh that i’ve become. there are times when i can feel my intestines poke through and i’d love to grab a good handle on them and not yank them out, but pull them a little to the left or the right, in any direction but the one i seem to be going because it’s becoming unbearable and maybe it’s the night, the ghost halls and dead air conditioning, the empty streets pock marked and scarred with flipped cars and hazard lights.
but then my daughter, while i was on my back making believe i was a monster she killed with the toe of her one-sy, bent down ever so carefully as not to lose her balance and kissed my forehead.
if i hadn’t
if i hadn’t then i would’ve and then something or other would’ve burst like a balloon filled with water, stale and poisonous, shot through the air like a stain, and we all would’ve wondered where did that boy once go? he had been filled with such hopes and aspirations. and i would’ve ducked under fire hydrants itching my knuckles and licking the curb, because enough really isn’t really enough with these fucking nightmares of jaundiced skin and tobacco fingers when i sure as hell don’t even smoke anymore.
and where’s the reset button, not restart, re-set, set all this to happen someplace else and if it doesn’t work out that time, set to happen all to someone else. someone who’ll learn how to live and not be the miserable mess of fat and flesh that i’ve become. there are times when i can feel my intestines poke through and i’d love to grab a good handle on them and not yank them out, but pull them a little to the left or the right, in any direction but the one i seem to be going because it’s becoming unbearable and maybe it’s the night, the ghost halls and dead air conditioning, the empty streets pock marked and scarred with flipped cars and hazard lights.
but then my daughter, while i was on my back making believe i was a monster she killed with the toe of her one-sy, bent down ever so carefully as not to lose her balance and kissed my forehead.
dreaming seeing wishing
i hate dreaming knowing it’s a dream and yet i still work through it, explore it try to change it no matter the oftentimes confused and confusing series of events and feelings. recently they’ve been powerfully nostalgic dreams, wish filled re-memories, where the past is mixed with the present, forgotten subplots of my life worked into today’s intricacies. and it’s painful in the sense that i know i am dreaming, that what i am seeing can never play out in the waking world, that this imagined past is not dead because it was never alive…
sometimes, even in waking, i have the edging fear that i do not like where my life is going.
and yet, and yet, i cannot see it any differently.
this is a test
This is a test
of the emergency broadcast system
of broadcasting that makes emergencies out of us
of a system which we’ve been for quite some time
this is only a test
it’s only a dream
it’s only a test
this is a test of a dream
of dreaming up emergency systems that will save us
of emergency rooms without doctors
that will inform us
that this isn’t a dream
this isn’t a test
before the time
he had been there before the time he hadn’t been and although this isn’t the right way to tell it, it had been telling for some time before it could be written.
he had washed ashore on her and although she would regret much of it later, she was amused in the beginning, as all these sort of things. her hair was soft, tickled his neck.
rumpled up into himself, he carried on, knuckles dragging along the wall. he would have bent up if he hadn’t left his spine between Broadway and sometime or another.
there would have more blue, if only it didn’t hurt so much and take away everything.
order of preference
when they’re first born, they’re miracles, needy, noisy fragile little miracles of flesh. nervous and scared to be alive.
then they grow a little, flap their limbs, learn to turn over, listen to the nervous world that is suddenly around them.
soon they start grabbing things and pull themselves along. up they go, up, up and away, knocking down everything in their stumbling path.
little pets they become to whom you teach stupid tricks. clap your hands, say mommy, say daddy, please and thank you, come here, no, no, that’s garbage, that’s daddy’s, that mommy’s and so on and so on.
you chase them just to keep them from growing up any faster.