12 December 2017

The Invitation

Caught in a moment where
                                        my self
had separated from
                             my body,

    perhaps only slightly, and
  perhaps imperceptibly. You
invited me to take part whenever---

not to even call ahead.

                                    But
I was too undone to say
much more than
                         thanks.

(28 Nov 17)

06 December 2017

Christmas Day, 2013

“He ended his days in a homeless shelter in Budapest” was how Dustin thought it would end for him, but he was wrong. It occurred to him just moments before his actual end, as he had a bit of time to himself to collect his thoughts before it all went to black.

It had been Christmas Day and was continuing to be so when Dustin, thirty and mild-mannered, lost it. Like, just fucking lost it. He’d had quite enough of trying to be the best person he could be in order to impress his wife, Hannah. It hadn’t worked. She had moved out anyway, she had decided to see other people anyway, and she had dismissed in her own, special, silent way the idea of ever coming back. Dustin insisted on counselling, which they attended with little success; Dustin made plans to see her, which never went quite as planned. On their last outing ever together, they ate lunch at a local chain bar and had a pleasant chat about nothing important. They could do that rather well. It was the important stuff they could never quite work through.

There was a lot of back and forth, very little up and down, and a slight bit of side to side. It was driving Dustin nuts—Brazil nuts, banana nut bread nuts, all the nuts—but he kept doing his best to stay cool and collected in hopes that patience would rule the day. (It wouldn’t.)

After their final lunch together, Hannah went away for the holidays. She did that last year, too, leaving Dustin all by himself. This year, she didn’t even wait for the holidays to leave him all by himself. She had rented a room month-to-month somewhere nearby. She didn’t want to reveal her secret location, but it was a small town and he’d stumbled across her car before—compact, black, sleek except for a dented fender, with a stupid yellow antenna ball which begged everyone to know that the person inside the car shouldn’t be taken too seriously.

And so, Christmas Day. Dustin, having gone through all his usual morning bleakness with the added discomfort of being without a family for the holiday, decided to take a walk. It being a holiday, he took a great swig of Hannah’s favorite rum, which she was saving for a special occasion that never occurred. He loaded his pockets with all manner of keys and his wallet, for identification. He used a red marker to leave a note on the beige carpet in the middle of the living room floor—“It’s all yours”—just in case he didn’t get back. He might have simply burned the place down, but in the end, Dustin was frightened of making too much of a scene. Instead, he put his sunglasses on and walked out the door, not taking great care to close it after. Yeah, that’ll get her, he thought.

At this point, his feet took over, his brain having checked out long ago. He was sweating. Every sidewalk led uphill, and the sun was roasting him. He turned a corner off the main road and was in a little patch of suburbia with imported trees and absurd green lawns. Cars lined the street, but he spotted a familiar one in an instant—a little black thing with a dented fender and that stupid fucking yellow antenna ball. Time passed. He stared at the car; the car just sat there, because that’s what parked cars do. He approached it; it glowed to life. He glanced around, but there was no one. He placed his hand on the door handle and heard the click of the unlocking door. He opened it quickly and slid inside. In a moment, he precisely adjusted the seat and mirrors for himself, which was like second nature to him he had performed the action so often, but as if in a previous life. The old Dustin was gone; a new Dustin had begun. He pushed a button and an obscure Christmas album began playing. He moved to turn it off, but thought better of it. It’s Christmas fucking Day.

Now, through a series of small but impactful events, Dustin was driving Hannah’s car around town. He wasn't quite sure where to go. Maybe he should just park it somewhere else, as a practical joke. But what message was he trying to send, anyway? A bit of the morning fogginess was seeping away. The sun blazed out in the big open sky as weird Christmas music blared at him. An on-ramp appeared, and thus he turned onto the freeway—just to drive around a bit, he told himself, to sort things out. Something about the high speed would help bring him to a semblance of peace which would allow him to figure out the next phase of his life, his new life, Dustin two-point-oh. At eighty miles-per-hour, he looked around the untidy car, Hannah’s untidy car. Seeing all those bits of Hannah he missed so greatly brought him profound grief. She was gone. This—all of this—was no longer his to enjoy or to nag about or to help clean out or add to. Suddenly, he felt guilty for having taken Hannah’s car at all. Suddenly, he felt angry about the affair she’d carried on for a month which took her three fucking months to tell him about fully. Suddenly, he was ashamed, broken, lost, confused—

Well, never mind. Flying off the freeway and into a fiery wreck seems to have taken care of it.

07 November 2017

It's not my fault

   It's not my fault
      The racism of others
The greed
         The hate—

            These things I did not create.

   I am not THEM.



               and yet...

Here I bear the mark of Cain
Born of a system that oppresses Others

   for no GOOD reason.

   I tip toe
         I guard
I let others speak

   Does oppression of self (ac)count for anything?

Wait!
   I have been oppressed, too!
The System™ oppresses everyone.

Is the argument that I get to CHOOSE
         to be oppressed?
That true oppression means
      LACK of CHOICES?

I wish I had the money to prove you wrong.
All I can do is create art.

09 May 2017

Titania

Let me swim inside your sweetness for a while,
Basking in the glory of your smile,
Chanting little praises in your ear;
In these arms you have no fear.
Let me stroke the softness of your cheek—
A midsummer's dream; I might yet gleek.
You, fairy princess, and I, the ass.
(I know, you'd say I have more class.)
Let us sit in fields of flowers and gaze.
In dew-dripped ground, in golden rays,
These days will seem so long, too short.
That's how it is when spirits court.

20 October 2016

Bully

What is there to argue?
You already think you've won.
No sense in wasting breath,
Except you won't stop your bulldozer,
And you seem to be mistaken
On the definition of consent.

Why do you need to argue?
You already know you're right,
Although your statements are untrue
And your morals don't seem good.
Are you hearing what the world is saying?
Are you open to some change?

It's said to “be the change you want to see.”
Is what you want to see just more disharmony?

26 April 2016

Cold Pint

Eggs and cream frozen into confection
Eliciting confession in flavored bliss
Mint presents cool but not that fake green kind
Which lies and says that anything green must be good

The mint is balanced by the crunch of
Cookies
Chocolate
Creamy
Feeling a bit forbidden
Perhaps even salty amongst the sugary sweet
The frozen feast

I am eaten in one directly from the container
Forcing warm tear-covered hands to ice over
Providing comfort where others have failed

Perhaps I can be their one true friend

23 April 2016

Scene on a Set of Stairs

She in her red dress.
She in her black top.
She and she sharing space and
Atoms.

She with her energy.
She with her strength.
She and she in each other and
The world.

She in her insecurity.
She in her apology.
She and she politely living and
In love.