these tired bones, this thick skin. you can train it again, bring it back to breathing. out in the sun, the heat, a joy ride to the park. purely selfish reasons. i wanted to get back to the handball courts again. last time i was winded, trounced by a child half my age. i wanted a rematch, i wanted to flex my muscles, loosen my limbs. an hour until someone else came. one hour of volleys and serves and running after a little green rubber ball i could barely catch. then someone else came, three kids. i offered a one on one, they countered with doubles. i warned them of my age, the years since i played. not a problem. we won the first, 11-9. continued that one to 21 and won that as well, 21-14. they wanted another rematch which we lost, 11-9. not bad old man, not bad at all

sometimes i become so enraged over nothing but i can’t stand to remain dumbfounded: these kids were in a car, with two on the outside, one with a camera while the other was running up to each door and banging on it. i came out and yelled at them and it didn’t matter to the two on the outside, the girl was actually laughing, but one of the kids in the car started apologizing, saying that it was “for school.” after about five minutes, i jumped in the car and went prowling for them, doing some stupid maneuvers (like making a left turn from the right most lane) when i thought i saw another car with a kid holding a camera out the window. i don’t know what i had in mind, most likely to grab the camera and smash it. stupid, stupid, i know, i know.

why do my obsessions always run so deep, so prolonged
i become someone else, utterly and totally, tunnel vision
without care or caring, without self, without ground

perhaps getting off your anger is like getting off on it
you simmer and stew and the world is a brick
you want to hurl
and instead it smashes you, grinds you
until almost all hope is gone, almost all reason is gone
almost, almost
but the spit is yours, the blood is yours, all this feeling is yours
and you stand up, you breathe
and you are home again

thinking this, wound up, unthinking, unfeeling, the bridge across, the gap divide. she says, you do not miss me and i tell her i am on the other side of this very long bridge and i long for you, i long to be near you but i do not know how to cross it.

you get into jags where everything is just terrible, or you are. something or nothing, the lack of aggression congregates you into puddles of obsession where the muck and mire cloud your judgment and skewer your confidence. why are other days better than this? play like you mean it or don’t play at all. the hesitation is costly, from both within and without. not everyone is tricky even if some are. either way you can back out of everything. just settle down and be calm. think before acting, think before the click. muck and mire all this, again and again, as it never was.

she says, i’m getting old. i look at myself, i’m getting thinner. our daughter cries as we leave her behind. in the city, walking, eating, talking. almost there again. easy drive, easy parking. sushi, open air exhibition and the sun, the sun, the sun. days like this, many years ago. almost.

i don’t know where i go, but i go somewhere and then suddenly i am here, my lungs can breathe, i am out of the murk, the lines sharpen. i do not know where i go my love, but i went and i now back. i can’t quite explain it, the cloudiness and detachment, the thickness between me and everything else, the immobility, the sterile detachment. and in those moments i am so lost and alone, and i look at you and her and the little one and i am overwhelmed because i am so far away and i want to be near, i so desperately need to be here.

how do i explain to her the desire for the avalanche karma, the yearning for release, the breaking of skin? how do i explain to her that i want to be broken open, i want to be beaten so i can feel my bones ache? how do i explain to her that i feel locked in this skin, that i am sealed in and i cannot find a way out? i love her, i love my children, my god how do i love them, they are wondrous and mysterious. i am flawed and ugly and without worth.

it is never easy to be honest, to say after the wreckage “we are better off”
it send everyone off the rails, re-opens newly sealed wounds,
to say “we are better, somewhat damaged”
to say “you are better off scarred and hobbling”
it is difficult and unfair and unyielding and without compassion.