Taking a Leap

One step off the cliff
and the falling.

A rush of air,
knocks out all breath.

Heart beats too fast, tears collect at the edge of your eyes.

You felt the edge
the wobble in your knees and the
D
I
P

You took the leap,
then I did.

Hands like a fist.
Teeth clenched.

The fall is fast
It hurts
But it is over.

I went down impartial and flying low, 

I saw how pea-ish dust convenes

in cloud layers, and how green light is

made of waving glassine 

in rot 

I learned against perpetual movement 

with scattered lens caps making no sense, 

my seatbelt talons resting on the desk. 

I incurred a beautiful nautilus

in the shape of a dog bone.

Rested the bone in places where no halogen memory
makes a sooty specter.

Showed up in a lopsided cat ear,
and in an unremarkable garage.

Writing

Writing and writing and writing

We
Write
Everyday
Mindlessly
In our heads
And outside our bodies.

Tomorrow I will write too
From my head, to the ground, in the air.
And erase it all.

A show on the Theme

We've really been coming to terms with this whole
mortality thing
this year

Last year I nursed a woman through her death
And read her entire life story
as told in her letters and diaries.
2000 pages.
I read it in 6 weeks.
70 years. 6 weeks.
And then I read it again.
Zzzziiiiiiipppp!
You're picking berries, then falling in love, then your husband gets cancer four or five times and continues working at a grocery store because of his health, he dies, your child has a child, then several more, your child jumps off a bridge, then you're dying for 15 years and then you're dead.

Beauty, terribleness
You only get this one life
How exquisitely, inspiringly wretched.

But for now let's also consider
that for now, it's not actually ending

Nothing is over yet
We still talking, still dancing, still waking up, still shitting in the morning
Still rescuing drowning yellowjackets out of orange juice

No need to understand the big picture
No need to write the perfect closing line
We're just continuing to work

We humble
We solo
We do that thing
Mess up that girl's schedule
Forget to return her key
oopsa
We do better next time
There are more chances.
It's not over
not
not
not
not
over

not yet.

Huddersfield

Coming back from Huddersfield, late, late spring fog presses up between the pillars of a bridge.

I'm tired, decide it's a wall, unaccountably there, blockading Bicester.

Never mind the miraculous feats of other traffic, they are not with me.

I gasp, jolt, stop at the next service station, hand mater the keys.

Before assembly, someone told me pot clouds could stop bullets.

This benign, mysterious wool?

That was a close one, you, sleep.

Sleep, I don't, spend the next 70 miles absently abstracting the nature of sleep.

Abstracting myself from danger 

and the enduring distortion where the road becomes horizon. 

the double bass
is a double cross
a double
albatross
which i
can't bear
much longer

FLORIDA

the sun makes us sad

tiny grains sand away

our calluses

soften rough places

so we weep tiny drops

into the sea

touch each other

where it hurts

because we know

a grinding need

to be sad in the sun

and crave a new callus

guestroom nostalgia or aestheticized workday

A house like a lotus

fever heartbeat in the orange juice pulp
the chords tangle round, cut diagonal
like stems in the vase

you can cook rice
and make it last
you can leave the keys

the visitor will show you yourself
as she walks down all those stairs
let it open slow

Saturday School

don't bother me kid
it's Saturday
and I am home
in bed with a cold
don't bother me kid
i'm not going to correct your paper
it's my day off
don't bother me kid
i'm watching movies in bed
shaking off this cold
don't bother me now kid
if you came on time to class this week
i might have been more willing to help
but you fucked up kid
so now you're on your own

WHAT FEELS GOOD

Not battling these 
twisted wires
Not squishing loyalty with 
a dirty heel
Not breathing pain from
moving too fast