with data i can't delete

i can see the look in their eyes saying "temporary."
But i can't say anything to them. The same thing i imagined
i would have wanted to be told then
exactly what i would have ignored.
that blinding flash and the light blindness that takes so long to fade out.

only when it has faded out do i recognize the pattern
and of course it's way too late.

She looks at him with subdued fire in her eyes
careful and somewhat guarded, arms not protecting her chest.
appearing to be free and willing to try it all.

I've heard it said that one should
"never regret anything, for at one time it was exactly what you wanted."
and i suppose i don't, but i'm so nostalgic that i can't let anything go.
everything that was lost, the roads not taken, the roses not smelled along the way.

Everytime i see someone remotely resembling her i spiral
contortion too fast to lock mine eyes on anything.

i catch glimpse of the couple and they are outlined in fire
they are burning blue-white hot and i sense the fire will burn out soon.
i fear for them, pity them, envy them.
their infatuation won't last, that's how it goes
they will stray and forget to forgive

he will long for her for years and remember the littles things
she couldn't possibly recount
the passing glances, the near-silent murmer she makes asleep after sex
the glassy look of her eyes after drinks.

Hey! Don't put any hard work into it that you want a return on.
this is fleeting, this is temporal, this is not built to last.
if you open up too far, that door will never fully close.
and it will hurt
and it will haunt
and it will never let you sleep soundly.

i see her face and hear her voice in my dreams
and it's been longer without than it ever was with
last night her sister told me that she never liked me either.
it was a dream, it lasted but a second, and my day is ruined
the cloudy shitty weather is so bright
its time to find a stone to take comfort under

its crushing, its caving in
its never ending

its heavy, its so heavy
its never ending.

if it was only her, i know
it'd be almost bearable
but her and all the others.

its her and it is all the others.

this memory capacity i try to grow
fills up with data i can't delete

the wrecks that closed the roads

one day I slept on the warm sand when
I heard the calls for help from the sea.
all the lovers with their drunken roses
all the wrecks that closed the roads
all the reasons to jump off of roofs.


there seemed to be no way to ignore the wailing
I felt driven to answer the sirens from the sirens
and stayed stuck on the sand where I stood
from the beginning of the mad season until
the middle of manic non-reasons that
started the end of treason against a heart.


the weight of the waiting for something new
pulled too hard against the pool of stagnant blood
impulsive, i took the chance, to her it seemed
repulsive, like more flooding in the land of floods


sometimes, sometimes.


sometimes the times when we speak
are the best times to shut the fuck up and listen
listen hard
with all five of our senses
and come up with our best intentions
to find a better set of directions.


instead of following our blinded and drunken hearts.
instead of ignoring the advice of the stones
who have recorded our lives in their lines
who have our history written in their faces


the sand, the seas, the stones have seen it unfold
a million times and million more untold
the seas try waving us away from the stoney cliffs
to keep us from crashing on the stoney reef
to keep our bodies from lying on the beaches in pieces
shattered like the husks of rowboats put to sea in haste.
shattered like icicles
falling from mountaintops to buidlings and shoppes


but then would we be human?

calls me through the sussurus

deadtime
blackout
waiting for the buzz of the world
to trick me to sleep again

shut them out, shut the world off.
the stifling monologue
calls me through the sussurus

whipping speed winds
whipping boy on the post cries out for mercy
passes out
comes to on a new day with most wounds scared

hungry executioner, time
willing taker, earth
the twins eager, inviting
never sated.

the center of the forest bears no new tall trees

the woods are alive
the leaves are talking and jumping as the seeds
of their fathers are consumed
the center of the forest bears no new tall trees
saplings stripped bare
trampled underfoot on muddy trails

light spattered on stones
life scattered in the stones
moving water is always out of sight
birds are flitting behind another tree
watching, reporting, calling

blind insects careening, swarming
moving by instinct rather than senses
higher spiders preying, praying
lying and waiting for accident.

the land will claim me too as it did you

looking down at the angels above you
swimming in the æther surrounding
the smell of your wounded heart and soul.


shoveling the sweat-saturated dirt and gravel
digging a hole and covering another grave
so much to get done, so little time left
drive, drive, drive the road north
to the end of the highway that ends in water


the smell of burning hair and rubber
the weight of years


experience


too little too often left me too distant and wanting
wanting to take the reigns and leave this western town
holding on, hoping against hope i remained
waiting.
rusting into the ground.
the land will claim me too as it you.
as it you.


i suppose its always the same:
we look to finish we look to leave others
with sufficient provisions
but we never really do.


as a son says "goodbye" he hopes his own is better prepared.
but it won't be.


"even in a crowded room
we all die alone," he said.

unravelling in the rain on a boring Sunday

pouring in from the leaking roof
the water, the weight, the gravel, the sand

hits the tables and cascades
over the chair and to the floor
the streak, the line, the current, the torrent

whispers stick to the walls, hidden under the coats of new paint
grooves in the floor have been ground down and stripped.
bare. refinished.

"watch me run down the hall way and not make a sound"
but no one sees it with interested eyes.
no one hears it, that was the point;
now i wish it was noisier.

the weight of the roof is massive
and the windows bulge and sag
the dirt foundation gives way and the house shrinks
but i see it.

how could i not notice
it's always in my head it's always on my mind
every updated picture is fuel for the fire
and a brisk breeze to boot.

no one shovels the snow on the walkway like they did
and no one runs to exhaustion like we did
tore it up reckless.
reckless.

and now the only way to have regret is to have done something stupid
the only way to miss something is to not have it
the only reason to apologize is to have broken something down.

and the thread comes loose.
unraveling in the rain on a boring Sunday
wasted with complaints of boredom
and now...

full-color monotone

skin so strong it breaks the needle
eyes so blue they light the room up.

kicking around the old street
i hear the cars and their tinny radios with maxed- out volume
i can feel the warmth of the shadows on the sidewalks still
i must be the only one

must i?

the trees are gone, the handrails rusted off their posts.
different birds are singing in diffrent trees
different cars park in the same driveways
looking up at the same houses with different colors.

my old house is for rent.
i feel so betrayed.
they stripped off the siding and tore out the old bathroom.

my mouth agape
my face askance, my arms akimbo
my cheeks flushed and drenched
just who do they think they are?

this was mine. I didn't choose to leave, i was moved
at eight years of age, you can't
push back the tide

of parental consent.

i don't get mail there anymore
i haven't for over twenty years.
the mail i do get now i don't want.

burn me. it burns me deep

until my blood boils to steam.
my feathers dark blue and so pretty but no one sees them but me.
i'm going blind but i can't tell.
All i know is that the light is darker than it was.

i took the pictuers, i stored them on a hard drive.
i'll post them on line with little messages
inside jokes and rose-colored memories that won't likley
get picked up by anyone.

I will format the pictures, probably enhance the colors.
i wonder what hue the pictures will have when they post:
will they be blue to reflect some predictable feeling i feel now
will they be rose-hued to portray the way i see what i saw then
will they be monotone to emphasize some sort of absolute and finite notion
of my condition:

even though i understand
times have changed

i refuse to admit
that times have changed.

fuck.