you chose a man
who does not understand
I couldn't convince the blind
I could dance. They'd hear my feet drag
like bird's do when they break water, hear you
ow at my missteps, and they wouldn't be wrong to
call me gawky and white.
You're always nice, though.
You use that maternal advice:
"you're getting better each time,"
even though I know,
I need lessons or wine
to try and match what you do,
how you go about the whole thing
like there is only now.
You wake up dancing,
and I believe somehow
you were born twirling,
were a music box ballerina
in your mom's underbelly,
waiting to be wound up,
to stretch out your arms
knowing the world
would have to forget.
We fall in
even though we grow
up believing they are truly
unique, their own separate souls,
giving us color like warm clothes.
We could leave something we thought
was once universe-issued because
we no longer notice or
the smalls loves
that drew us in:
her snort laugh, how she
picks at her food, how she
always dresses for comfort
could all become
we rarely miss.
only months removed
from her, from promising we would
swear off everything, we could fall into
our feelings again,
this time in the way she
always has an imaginative story
she is running late.
Talk is how we think.
I remember I read that somewhere.
Seems so oddly useless
on these unsparing nights
with the sky pink
like a fresh burn,
superimposed behind those
worn-out mountains that cast complicated shadows
over-top these opine-less pines that loom around us
with life -- like life -- as a creek speaks
over the clicking of twigs underneath
our planted asses,
for what seems like our final night in adolescents,
before we leave another husk among us, wrung out, outgrown
like a shrunken garment until we have only our simple talk
that starts with
we work like drinks and cigarettes
on stress-less eves:
We liquored, we simple,
each out breath so serene-
hangs fog-like low, tethered above us
while we strike up conversations
like used matches
Useless, all of this, we likely forget,
except that overall,
superficial and noisy
I heard it boom
when it appeared
like everything in our homes
decided to fall over together
then a mountain range worth
of smoke rolled towards us
rolling rolling rolling
growing into itself
just like we did but
without the coding
to know when to stop
it became a tower
it climbed its own back
surpassing the heights of any wave
tidal or otherwise
it even built itself so high at one point
that had any planes been looking for a land
they would have surely been
swallowed by its greatness
like a king drinking his land's finest wine
and then as a prophecy
would imagine or predict
it reached the heights of giants
it reached the heights of gods
it fashioned hinges out of itself and securely
clamped into the clouds like carabiners on a climb
sealing off the sky entirely as if to say I hope
you can at least remember
superficial and noisy
colliding into our planet as if
is starting over
when yr detached or estranged,
I can know nothing about you.
I can listen as a stranger would,
with no real ties into yr world.
I can solve yr cloudiness.
I can bring you back to clarity,
remind you how to smell rain,
stone and clay.
I cannot prove it, but
you can trust my word.
I am a no placebo.
I am the master and
I can clean up yr hurt.
I can take you to an anechoic room,
help you hear how yr beautiful heart
pushes blood into yr beautiful lungs.
I have separated skies like water.
I am breaking the fourth wall now
as you read, and
using my energy to
help two moose untangle antlers
in some lonesome, coved inlet so
they do not expend their energy
beneath the water.
I am real
as yr pain, as arbitrary as my
examples, as hard to stay with
as sunlight refracting
through clouds, air and glass,
and into your eyes.
This is yr distraction.
With no real ties to your world,
I can listen as a stranger would.
I can know nothing about you
when yr detached or estranged.
because I live so you,