it’s not raining

At dusk,

the center of town is calling

            and it’s not raining

anymore.

smoke or steam

fills the streets, anyhow

and everything

            is

unrecognizable

            and

            unmoving.

the mist recurs—

            Unfurls like a dream

looks over the shoreline

glittered and littered with light.

oh portend

            &

fasten

threadbare, you carve through

       the luster

and your face is there,

            somewhere

lost in the brume.

storm clouds

just now—

the clouds loom thick,

hang low and dark

and slackened

over whatever

earth decides

shall form the horizon tonight.

this is a first night;

you will only ever see this once

and here

close up

like this.

funny how it still feels like a void

or a tomb

however breathtaking—

what shadows cover over

will tomorrow

begin to feel new again.

how small

how small things

seem

in the morning’s soft light

            there is something very sad about the tree:

grayed

and dulled

into oblivion

by the fog’s impenetrable thicket.

there’s something out yonder

for us both

            yes,

there’s something ‘round the corner

just beyond the next glow

where

        you

             stand

tall,                  alone

where you can, for more than just a moment

wonder after what’s left

of us

            and

not forget that it might always haunt.

January in a jar

come in,

            unload

down

into

the couch

            put your feet up

slide out of your coat and let this all out—

little bits of bark, ash, of stone.

time alone

is hard to come by

when                                       you explain how this hurts

the antidote

i’m afraid, is made of both dreams and lies

all the ______s            you haven’t met                                              (yet)

            no such synonym for this, exists

considering we’ve just met                 plus

                                                      there’s all our history to consider.

break from winter;

            take my hand

it’s either proximity or debt

so try and not strain yourself on the guesswork.

everything is a parked car, or leaving

time’s up,

every second chance against the clock

there must be limits

on strangers talking

and others, for asking

for direction

the real axiom,

                      well

it’s you

            I’ve _____’d all along

even though there’s too much geography involved—

even though

            i don’t want to.

all the world turns its back &

i want the words to sound themselves out

            just once

let’s burn this waiting room to the ground

let’s torch it

say cheers

to happy endings

on fire

if you’re coming, you had better start packing—

coast to coast

swing & lean

down

into

what you really want to say

                                                            ”your subconscious must be an interesting place…”

weird moments of grief

inking

&         wedging

inside

All the rooms               i want you in

they coalesce

like—                                                   like water under it

and just like most of the “ghosts

of your heaven”            :                       not all of my happiest moments are surrounded by water

                                                            but they are surely wound up somehow tightly         in you

finish the joy               of

interstice             and ask:

                        is this really your wish?           to spend our lives as               rifts?

                                                            once, we moved alongside one another

as parallel as the coastlines

sloping the sides of this great, wide continent

                                    ohh      k

now

we move amongst the shadows and the fields on fire

we are strangers with full pockets

and wide eyes

just smiling politely

dragging and basking in the great and terrible unknown.

someday

we’ll meet in the middle

come together the way the land meets the sky

form the horizon, &

just

keep going.

unfamiliar eyes meet on the street,

in passing,       they look

so real

and ever so biting.

no stranger than that

backward in the cracks of time

“reinforce,” you say, like noise

from all the years before—

indecipherable

out the window

there’s some vague bird, circling

now, you notice

how quickly the house could burn

how the dishes collect

how

the brakes could go (any minute)

and all things move inward

like factions—

like the panging rain on loads of cars

you, upstairs

crafting your papers:

something remains,

down here, remains,

jobless in worry and footsteps so heavily

over floorboards

how the dog, bedside, sleeps so easily;

it is dark in this bald room of windows

something cold, inking—

drafts its edging way in

the distant pasts before us

removed from the remedy of memory

it is only here that we practice the unending script of forgetting.

a light in the hall

yes, it’s true—

you once knew

nothing at all.

                                                                                    “you are so beautiful, it’s heartbreaking,”

yet rest assured

there are car crashes

and there are staircases

                                    with long falls—

                                                                        and                              once, you said

                                                                                    “for you, darling, i’m on all fours…”

beastly

and again        there are                                             head injuries      &                   there’s:

                                                                        boredom between the walls

                                                                                    oh        you should look at the big picture

lately                                                               and                                          all the finite details

in the minutia                                                  you’re everywhere

                                                                                    where

there’s a light

                        under the silvery,                    silvery_________

which remains on

in the hall

which remains & leads to

the room where you’ll return

to the real self

should you ever decide to

come home                                                               

at all.

a return

stand guard

the price of a look, tenfold

fix and affix yourself

to these riddles

            that

you will never have

or know

the answers to.

just around the corner

you recognize someone

in someone else

then it disappears—

a thing you cannot name

turn now,

say                h        e         l          l         o

to

flashes of remembrance

flashes of hindrance

            stampedes of doubt—

of rushing strain,

come(turning)now,

it’s time you go

home

            to it.