3/25/17 3:05pm

All I wanted, was to be heard.

It still hurts, to hear you miss me, you know.
Even though
You pushed me away
Even though
You called me a liar
Even though
You were the one
Who called me a coward,
And closed the door.

Or maybe,
That’s why it hurts to begin with.

I didn’t try hard enough to break it down, either.
It’s like I’d given up, more than decided
it wasn’t worth trying anymore.

Or maybe, it was because I believed you,
When you said goodbye.

You need to know
This is not what I wanted.
And yet, what alternative exists
But this:

You, finally safe,
In your castle on the hill.
Still here, still moving, as always.
Each laboring under words unspoken,
Never to speak again.

I gathered the scattered possession of our inheritance
And went back on the road,
Back to wandering,
To nomadic intellectual roving,
To that intersection

Where my footsteps crossed yours,
Where I saw you,
And suddenly
The world opened
Where I ran to catch up to you
And turned away from the chaotic landscape, never looking back.


To that intersection
And turned away from the chaotic landscape, never looking back.
Or at least,
That’s what I tell myself.

The truth is, I always look back.
I always will.
In part, due to morbid fascination with my own grief
In part because,
I cannot distinguish who you are
From who I fashioned you to be
Deep in that primordial soil of the subconscious,
Where others plant
Mysterious seeds
That grow into flowers, into trees,
Into strangling vines
That shut out sunlight.

That was what you were- something deeply planted.
And what a strange specimen we produced:
Part thistle, part Lilly
Like the bouquet I once bought for you
And sent to your office
Raising heart rates, and eyebrows
The ripple of gossip
Interrupting the hum of typing
The hum of boredom
The hum, perhaps,
Of a slowly atrophying heart.

And so, I continue, like Doubting Thomas, to finger the wound in my side.
Was it really all in my imagination?

A marvelous botany, it was, we studied.
But it was not enough.

10 years later
You made yourself so remote
That I, without boat or oar, or wings
Afraid to swim
Afraid to drown
Could not even begin to think about walking on water.

But I wanted to.
I really did.

I’m crying now,
Thinking of that time I laid my head on your chest,
And tried to tell you the truth
But you wouldn’t listen.

That isn’t what really happened.
Actually, we were fighting.
From opposite sides of the room, no less
But really, opposite sides of the world.
And I realized that no amount of talking
No amount of pleading
Would make my case.
Some things, never change.

All I wanted, was to be heard.
But there is no more time for speaking, now.
Maybe one day, If I dare again to hope.

And yet,
I shudder to think
What monstrous inflorescences will spring up
From your mind’s fertile earth
To explain my absence, in absence
Of testimony.
Will you wonder?
Will it hurt?
Please don’t hurt.
It’s not what I wanted.
Your questions, they sting me even though they cannot touch me.

In truth, the explanation is deceptively simple.
In truth, it isn’t what you’d expect.
And I, with the power to relieve your ambiguity
Knowing that some lights, are best kept
In their baskets.

Is it tragedy, or necessity?
Separate yet still connected.
If only by our decision to continue walking, even apart.

But it’s more than that.
I awake, some times, imagining I can feel sadness throbbing
Behind your stoicism and endless soldiering
Somehow, crossing through the ether to my bedside
Reminding you of “the other”
And reminding me of myself.
We just know each other too well.

I imagine twinges of reminiscence, as the senses inadvertently rove toward
Something I once gave
Once said
Once wrote

I cannot decide whether to reach out, or push it away.

Scrap, 7/22/14 10:05pm

The pretty girls float by
Like mythical creatures
Wrapped in swirling fabrics.

They finish the picture with a pearl earring
And crown themselves in the affections of others
Who gather to gaze at the spectacle
Behind the glass.

To all but the elderly curator
Who, in the loneliness of after hours
Removes their clothing
(piece by piece)
Hoping to glimpse flesh
One more time before he sinks into an uneventful sleep.

To gaze upon what we will never possess
To imagine breath which will never raise the breast
By his side
To understand what it is 
To dream for pleasure, instead of escape.

Freewrite 8/20/15 1:51pm

I want you to hit me. I want you to hit me so hard, it leaves a mark, knocks the wind out of me, throws me flat on my back.  Because I can deal with that. I know what that’s like, I know how long the sting lasts. I know how long it takes before I can get up and walk away, before you can move just like you  used to, before it turns into another story you tell over a drink with someone who is just as battered and hardened as you are.
I don’t know how to deal with this. It’s the kind of pain that nothing seems to ice over. The kind of pain that leaves you walking with your back straight and your spirit bent, if not crushed.
Am I ever going to be able to trust anyone again?

1/31/2014 4:37pm

And in our beds, 
'Twixt the rustling sheets,
We shut the eyes of God
And make love to our demons.
They keep us warm 
Until the sun chases away our delight
Leaving only shame in its wake.

Give me a moment without fear,
and I can tell you a thousand stories.

Give me a man without faith
And I'll paint a thousand pictures, 
Of chances lost and never gained-

Pebbles lodged in the clay
I've cut from the hand of the potter,
And his blood cannot wash it away.

10/18/07 5:22pm

And you'd barely been married 
Before they told you I was coming out
The same way I went in.
The ruffles on the wedding dress
Still scented with the occasion-
Nobody came.

Chin up, Chin up,
You say,
And you can't see my neck is broken.

It's all your fault, 
But I love you anyway...
I think. 

I'm trying not to be you,
In your stained sweatpants and perpetual clogs
You wear them in December,
You find them convenient
Enough to ignore your exposed heels 
In the winter snow,
And my vertebrae
Slowly buckling under their weight.