Monday, August 20, 2012


a box of Pandora proportions --
time to escape.
it's a sign that you're in the wrong place
when masochistic walls
begin to move in on you,
encroaching on space that's your own
and sprouting barbs to match the count
for each day you remain
where you aren't supposed to be.

suffocating into the ordinary
you're tortured,
whittled down to shreds
of a former self,
stripped of all that's genuine,
crudely molded into what
they've designed for you --
a shell not conducive to adaptation,
no room to grow,
stained with stale expectation.

time to escape
the box --
the only thing
holding you in.


Sunday, August 19, 2012

shoes on a wire

it used to be cool
to tie the ends of your shoelaces together
and toss them sky high
to get them to land on a power line.
you got bonus points
for putting them there
so they hung evenly;
everyone likes symmetry.

then all the lonely people
who'd drive by in their fancy cars
or walk home from their fancy schools
would be forced to notice
the handiwork of some punk kid
who had nothing better to do
than waste a perfectly good pair of sneakers
by attaching them to a high wire
and watching them hang there
swaying with each new breeze
day after day.

the real trick
was getting those wayward shoes
down from said wire,
a crafty larceny indeed.
once sacrificed
there was no guarantee
those suckers would ever return to earth
for reclaim,
but you knew that going in.

you didn't want to wear them again;
that wasn't even the point --
it was just to be able to say
you'd done it
and also
so they didn't become prey to a storm
and get lost in the universe somewhere.

no one wants to wake up
to a pair of forsaken shoes,
sodden and overrun with stench,
on their lawn.
then you'll be that kid
whose shoes were found four streets over
from their original hanging place
and then it's not so cool anymore
they're in a stranger's trash can
where their legacy dies
instead of being heralded on a wire
in high fashion.

like anything in this world
it was only cool to throw your shoes on a wire
if you did it right
and you didn't get caught.


Wednesday, August 15, 2012

hum away

i want us to stay
right here, and we'll hum away
lazy afternoons


Thursday, August 9, 2012

of you i only remember the last week (II)

of you
i only remember
the last week in March, the
day before you were to return to Germany
i could not fathom having
gotten so close to you so quickly
and now oceans separating our laughter again
just like that

those parties chez toi
they always made me nervous, cringing
to think of conversing in French for three
four, five hours, hours of exhaustion
before i came i indulged on red wine
the sweet kind from the Loire just nextdoor
and you moved out so it wasn't your business now was it
my head got foggy on purpose
i had to have a foggy head
to fucking stand another drawn-out soirée
where you are the guest of honor
you were always the guest of honor and
i never felt good enough to be sitting on your right side
the joke of the Loiret who knew no way to be happy here

but i had my trusty wine in my belly
and i was golden, conversational wiz
confidence surfacing from the too-conscious parts of my brain
and i giggled perhaps a bit louder and longer
and you asked me with a smile if i was already drunk
yes! i wanted to scream, yes! i am!
because i don't want to fucking be here
with these temporary people who tolerate me!
you can at last stop tolerating me

Veronika gave you a necklace but
you did like her more than me didn't you
i gave you some perfume of mine
to remember me, if you can
if you are capable of remembering

you handed me my give-a-damn on a polished plate
i should have thrown it to the floor
and enjoyed the crash instead


Wednesday, August 8, 2012

your anthems

Americana, that your unprecedented wisdom
should appear to shy you now,
for you have killed a dream today.

all that danced inside him was abandoned
for a chance at unsummoned victory.
they laughed at his candor.

he yearned to remodel his microphone
in order to restore his former glory
on an amateur stage.
chancellors encouraged him to do so.
thus began his journey across unmarked stars.
he was prepared to pave his own path
to infinity.

a juvenile gleam perused his aged eyes.
he had seen the world but wanted more, they said.
some were not ready to let him try.

he was vibrant yet innocent,
perfect yet flawed somehow.
still they adored him.
Caesar's throne cowered under his suave;
he played upon that most.
an icon, he knew
as did his peasants.
they bowed to him.
how they cheered.
an icon.

my Greek god,
how i long for your anthems
to make me swoon.
it has not been an hour.
i will hear the affections of your singsong heart once again,
and this time
they will not take you from me.


Wednesday, August 1, 2012

spinning up violets and roses

even if we can't get out, we can still
be left with all that's here for a thrill,
our favorites of the day and what's more,
all the things we never knew before --
barber poles spinning up violets and roses
mocking the beautiful people in their beautiful poses;
faded signs stuck behind streetlights for show
on roads once run by horses and bankers in-the-know.
on the way down perhaps we'd notice the way
the sun catches in trees in the middle of the day
or even the shine off three-piece suits and magazines
who never understood how to sever the seams
binding them to earth that crumbles 'neath their feet
when we're on our way into orbit, young, complete.
and even if we can't get out we can remember the time
we almost had nice things, infrequently sublime.

didn't we leave a mark in place of our shoes?
they'll come around; we've overpaid our dues.