Happy Endings.

Shame Folded Neatly

The closet was dark, and the air stale.
I waited until I could no longer hear
the breathing, and cracked open the door.
It took several seconds for my eyes to begin
to adjust to the light; I had been hidden
for several hours, most of the night.
And each breath you withhold, while still
sat across the room, arms crossed, and waiting
is released into the center of the room. I hear you
now your image becomes shadow, then curved line,
then hair, cheeks, eyes, lips, and my racing heart
is released into the center of the room. I hear you
I am fully admitted and betrayed
by the vibrations of that persistent organ
pounding in my ears and of that accidental welcome.
You alight beside me
relieving me of my guard, and returning
my promise of faith.

I thought I had waited long enough, but instead you held fast to your claim that I would emerge faithfully back into the room. And of course, I did. Not yet ready to face our lost time. And the screaming, long since dulled against the cold green plaster walls now cracked by our words thrown hard, aimed at heads and hearts, but missing. In the center of this room all that remains is heated breath and pounding heart. And the two of us are searching our thoughts, and desperately trying to string together enough words to reconnect.







p.s. sometimes in the moment we are unable to see the forest for the trees.



"Yes, I do." so now, back to that question...

I prefer it twice a day.

To a Reader
Robert Hass

I've watched memory wound you.
I felt nothing but envy.
Having slept in wet meadows,
I was not through desiring.
Imagine January and the beach,
a bleached sky, gulls. And
look seaward: what is not there
is there, isn't it, the huge
bird of the first light
arched above first waters
beyond our touching or intention
or the reasonable shore.



p.s. they are not entirely well yet...in the meantime, in others words I revel.

For now...this bit of my bad, bad wit.

The magician is in the kitchen
Cooking up some fun
Pasteurize the chicken
Then put it on a bun
Load it up with sauce
And then
Put it on a plate
Eat it up and smile again
Before it is too late.

Now ask…too late for what?











The rhythm of my thoughts is calming. The grainy cadence of my voice is a constant reminder that I must, and will, refrain. It rains and it pours, beating the pattern like a tambour in my skull. The words are fugacious, and conservation is my priority. I have the ability to catch the phrases, hold them in sanctuary until they are well, and re-release them back into their natural habitat. I must let them go. Captivity will only foster anxiety, increasing the pacing…the back and forth search for limits.

It is there that they will live out the duration of their lives.



p.s. is it ridiculous to consider the possibility?

Absent minded memory.

Last night you said
“I would give you the moon.”
Pull it down from the sky
and feed you by spoon.

In your whisper, while hushed
I was bribed by conceit.
Force fed through a tube
of ill will and deceit.

Then, the grandest of gestures
you walked out of the room.
Strangling me in a glut
of dissonance and doom.

Last night I said
“I would give you the moon.”
And you took it greedily
not a moment too soon.

p.s. it was at that exact moment that the unraveling began.

Who do you think I am anyway...

The catalyst of confusion
started a fire
while shopping for
a soul on a high wire.

Until now I was unaware that the remuneration for impropriety exceeded that set for dignity. How much did you get for yours? As for my dignity…I will hold onto it, thank you. I would rather starve than feed my soul from a base wage.

With my voice in repose, I hid behind my own forbearing shadow, and allowed silence to foster absolution. Silence failed, and I have become intolerant of flippant commentary.

I am not so completely unaware. Because I am certain that is common knowledge, your recent presentment was, quite frankly, out of line. Your bravado flames me.

As it happened, I had simply misplaced the why, where, and how. I can identify the sickness in that statement, and I concede fault in my volition. I understand that I can be fucking difficult. My own scathing behavior must remain in constant check.

I am not able to take back that fleeting moment or the injustice it served you. I have arrived at the place from where I must move on. I wish you the same in your departure.






p.s. a fucking doormat.

The smoking gun.

Reflection.

I battle with my image. It is difficult to see myself in the context of life. To see myself as others do, with a watchful eye. I am often too busy living to be constantly aware...aware of my actions and my thoughts as they occur, to be always on. That is a poor excuse, and so I will continue learning.

There amongst the rubble, the rubbish, the reality, and the reverie…is a life lived. I have opened it up for my inspection, my dissection. My life spilled open before me, I am able to pick it apart. What is worth keeping and what shall be cast aside? Some of it will be misplaced or forgotten without intent. Some will be thrown full force out the fucking window.

The entirety of it, my life, has been examined, admired, and accepted as a lesson in time…without regret. But still I ask myself, how can I be a better person?



Considering the past, I must live forward.



I will continue to challenge myself to sustain thoughtfulness. I will attempt to close each day with a question…was I good?

I will allow the answer to that question to lead me forward. Daily, I will take the hand of my mistakes and my misgivings and allow them to guide me to craft a life. My triumphs and successes enhanced by greater insight. I do not want to come to the close of another year bombarded with resolution.

I will also try to keep fear at bay. I will pause, even if it is just for a moment, to reflect. I intend to live, and live well. Each day I will do my best to be good.

My lovelies, I wish each of you the best of life in the new year. I hope that you are all happy and healthy, and that you find joy in each day. I hope you live, and live well.



Apparition?...please.








p.s. my clichéd resolve will be found in the calm exhale of purity.

I am reluctant to begin.

The necessary words seem to escape me when I need them most.

As I sit here in this quiet place, I find it difficult to express the entirety of my emotions. I fear that no matter what I write, you will not fully comprehend the impact your thoughtfulness has had on my heart. Could it be that the words escape me? Or is it that the act itself is indescribable? Nevertheless, please accept my humble attempt at expressing gratitude.

You overwhelm me, yet again. Your generosity has renewed my spirit. A gift I will treasure indefinitely.

A kind gesture made its way to my heart. A collection of thoughts, images, photographs, sculptures, paintings, drawings, stories, dirty stories, videos, memories, inspirations, songs, dances, a trip around the world, a mansion, a hand, recipes, poems, puzzles, riddles, and rhymes...they are all amazing. I will spend time admiring each gift, removing them from their boxes, and finding just the right place to keep them.

Soon my gratitude will transcend the buzz, and eventually, I believe you will each hear me. You always do.

Thank you. Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.

p.s. are we in Texas, again?