Sunday, March 30, 2014

Photoshop® (the shortest novel imaginable)

Photoshop® (the shortest novel imaginable)

I die fast in this city, outside I die slow
Everywhere I am is just another thing without you in it
“Fashion Coat,” The National


i tried to Photoshop® myself
back into the picture
from which you cut me

the process was tedious and slow
because i work from dream and memory
haunting me like welcomed ghosts

Chapter 1

i have been hit twice by cars while cycling
and i cannot remember anything about them

Chapter 2

i remember every moment
from the first time we made love

every detail of your apartment
the position of your bed in the room

the Salvador Dali rose poster i gave you
hanging on your wall near the door

the flush along your neck and face
and every word shared between us

Chapter 3

i remember The National concert in Asheville
and that you were not there beside me swaying

Chapter 4

i remember reading At Night We Walk in Circles
wanting to highlight in blue this sentence:

“Nothing is more deserving of one’s respect,
he told Monica that night, as they lay in bed,
than two young people who’ve found each other.”

i remember i could find only an orange highlighter
and that i could not share about any of that with you


i have discovered that Photoshop®
cannot fabricate the things that matter

especially when the things that matter
are no longer possible and no longer there

Friday, March 21, 2014

she was risen

she was risen

she was risen
round full and glowing

full as a throat with song
risen like bread in an oven

and once again it is spring
risen from the ashes of winter

she was risen like the moon
round full and glowing in the sky

and like her we too were full
she with child and we with hope

the death of us (redux)

the death of us (redux)

“You are reporting what?”
the officer stood in their living room

“The death of us”
they said in unison like a chorus

“But you’re standing right here…”
the officer held out his hand for emphasis

“Not us the people, us, you know, us
the wife said sweeping her hands over her head

there was nothing else they could do
so the forensics team inspected their home

“I think we have found the culprits”
a detective said tapping a notepad in his hand

“The empty toilet paper roll in the holder”
the detective kept tapping the notepad

“The passive-aggressive laundry”
the detective gestured to the folded clothes

“Happens all the time, I’d say, almost always”
the detective shook his head and looked away

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

i am the voice of reason (breathing you breathing me)

i am the voice of reason (breathing you breathing me)

I wore the clothes you wanted
I took your name
If there is some confusion, who's to blame?

i am the voice of reason
only when i laugh
only when i cry

if you stop to read the words
you are lost little lamb
you are lost lost lost

we sacrifice childhood on the alter
of everything we say
in order not to see


lips wasted telling all those lies
are best for kissing
are best for kissing


come closer please closer still
so close there will be no need for words
breathing you breathing me

Sunday, March 16, 2014

i still lie (he thought)

i still lie (he thought)

And in my hotel room, I'm wondering
If you read that story too?
And if we both might
Be having the same imaginary conversation
“Cologne,” Ben Folds

i still lie imagining

he thought when he woke
on a tuesday morning

unable to recall the difference between apparently and clementine
although he felt certain they were entirely separate things

and where ever words no longer connected with meanings
he could see and even feel as if recollections were experiences

his thumb sliding and pressing
into the curve of her palm
and then with his finger squeezing
the soft pad below her thumb

these conversations wordless as a man trapped in forgetting
that echo like memories projected into an endless cavern

how could a jet plane that large disappear?

[like the meanings of words]

he wanted to ask her
as they held hands quietly

but when he turned her way
she was already gone

and that meaning he knew
with the solidness of bone

it was golden and too thick to be water
but he thought he heard her whisper honey

in that wordless othersphere of memory
where meaningless meant meaningful

apparently and just ever so briefly
he was happy as a clementine

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

something i learned watching a young 20s couple at barnes and noble

something i learned watching a young 20s couple at barnes and noble

i am sitting at barnes and noble feeding off internet access and working. welli am writing, or more accurately editing, and i am sure not many would call that working.

a young 20s couple sits close by, and i watch over the top of my computer screen as i write. she is nearly crawling on him drawn physically, and he seems almost oblivious leaning slightly away.

it is then i realize something i could not admit before: i have been this woman in every lover relationship i’ve had.

one was a perpetual begging for her to long for me; the other, i sent running anywhere except with me.

and what was my daughter to do with this woman for a father as she stumbled and flailed toward her own womanhood?

damn i think well damn as i continue to write resisting the urge to tell the young man won’t you please notice her, knowing as i do that if i did and if he did, the spell would snap, and freed she would leave him there, her seeking another aloof for her ache to be drawn physically once again.

[NOTE: Thanks to Peter Kay, for "this."]