33 (Part One)

the futon mattress ended up in the hallway
you left behind the system for supporting my tendencies to cut off my hair
walked home inside of my jacket, a jacket your jacket.

i am pretty sure that it was frigid in temperature.

it laid there for a week in some kind of memorial to the end of frequencies
ending of twins and seized catastrophes
a reason to break away and desire.

it happened like this

i woke up after
those ghosts went to Denny’s
in a black sports car

coincidence was you lost and I drank too much
and thinking of her behind that four-foot thick glass wall
you were lucid and asleep at the wheel

and it happens like this

one day you wake up and realize that your confidence has been disintegrated,
split the hive in two parts:

one for you to hide in
the other to give to the world
out of insecurity

and it began like this

went bowling and ate her cupcakes with bunnies on them,
frosted and magic
tricks swarming about
through cult like rituals behind curtains of priests.

cult
cultish
cultish-ness
cult-like
venerable

behaviors forsaken for a teenage boy that I have become.

and it really happened like this

I woke up after eating cupcakes covered in pink frosting
and bunnies were stabbed into the top
went to sleep thinking that I had done it
and woke up thinking about those regrets of the time previous to now.

every moment tries to synch itself
into a bag that you keep hidden behind your dresser
you think nobody knows about that, but I do.

i keep it there too.

and it really happens like this

a box full of rubberized emotions

not bouncing
but full of color,
float out into that place you try to find solace in

they infiltrate, it really is their job.

to become that threshold you keep close to the organ
it keeps you alive.

and I have been thinking of bees and of my separation from my spleen
and it was such a long time ago

sometimes it punches through, giving you a glimpse of what you once thought of how cakes should taste when you wake up at 2:30 in the morning looking for that one thing that will fulfill you.

to keep you from thinking about how lonely it is here without appliances.

of dishwashers
of toasters and whining refrigerators

and i wake up today to find that those cupcakes have disintegrated

pool of milk
i spilled that night when you were rupturing

and i wake up today to the howling of that dog
and I wake up this day and go back to sleep
and I wake up holding my breadth for something warm,

that’s when the sun peaks in.

light enters and you find yourself standing in a parking lot,
getting away from the parking lot,
forsaking the parking lot,

realizing that your problems will never be found in the parking lot,
never being solved in the parking lot.

the truck drives up to you standing there.
sometimes it leaves you a cake for your birthday,
mostly it just ignores why you are standing in a parking lot with your pants around your ankles.

i wake up with a terrible hangover because i ate too much sugar that a rabbit gave me in the form of a cupcake from Japan translating itself into the water. i remember that incident when i felt uncomfortable standing in your yard, grass around my bare feet and lost at a stop light. it is lamentable, at best, when you are staring at an ocean water sized abyss, stopping you, crossing you, letting you find your spleen.

32 (last year’s birthday poem)

in the last year

dioramas have been constructed
erected in rooms
to close to get a good look at.
and we grew up, finding ourselves as adults once again
rode the bus
flew in planes and made plans for tattoos
burned down the house
remade the house
bought new appliances
found your name in a 12 year old electronic posting
watched you sleep, held your head
wanted to sleep in your life
moved out on a thanksgiving
fell asleep for three weeks and missed the birth of Jesus
took another plane home, wincing at what i said
watched them walk away,
dispersed into new lands
saw her wash away the world
walked away,
the sun shone to my side.

in the last year

went to the store,
bought McIntosh apples
watched them rot in a monumentalizing action
paid my rent late
saw my last fleeting moment
ran around in the rain
threw a baseball to you at midnight
rode in a cab as you fell asleep drunk
walked you home
got some rocks from Texas in the mail
looked into eyes that I never could before
feel asleep on the plane
flew over your house, over the water and into a mountain
rolled down a hill
locked my keys in the car
and met you for the first time
mowed the lawn with an old machine
planted flowers in old soil that never grew
left my apartment
and drove north in a pickup on the first sunny day
you wore red boots, I wore a sweater.

prolixity

and sometimes we find ourselves staring out into a landscape
scooped up by the darkness that is lit by the moon at night
and sometimes we prolong our futures based on attempting to live

lining up outside my door
checking to see if my wallet is there
habitually disrupting the day
wandering in and out of nature

I’m at the grocery store again, trying.

ultimately too difficult to be here alone

it’s amazing how lonely the grocery store is when you are uninhabited, without and forgotten.

the first day-become aware-become a cliche.

Today I was appalled during the class I teach of how many students have apathetic attitudes towards the soldiers getting killed in Iraq. In fact they are scared of not having any type of control over the situation and have devloded a “what can I do” mentality. Or “why does it matter if I do anything?” Initially they are a bit convincing, with stories about personal attempts to try being thwarted or not being able to find the right type of honest information in the media. With all of the attention that they pay towards the internet I find it fascinating that they are not resourceful enough to learn about the politics of this society.

This is a symptom. They generartion of students, not much younger than I am, feel that they have no voice. Even as artists, art students there is a general feeling of dismay about being able to speak their minds. Where does this come from? I look at history and it tells us to be skeptical BUT it also tells us there is a place for the voice, for the opinion and ultimatly the chance for idealistic change.

I tell them these things, they are expressing even more apathy. So I hit them where it hurts. Money. In teaching for just a few years I have realised that students are really only concerned with surviving on their own. A contradiction but a concern none the less. I tell them that the way that the U.S. is running things currently with the war in Iraq, the amount of money “we” are borrowing from other countries to keep this war machine well lubricated and the ignoring of it happening right in front of each individuals dinner plate will bankrupt the country in 10 years. What does this mean for you? If you live here you will be in some serious trouble. No jobs, no way to be self sufficient. Your student loans will never go away, they in fact are owned either by the U.S. Government or by a corporation who supports such a government that belives education for the people comes with a VERY high price tag. So I tell them to find a way to be proactive, I tell them they should band together somehow. Read, take advantage of this education they are paying a high price for and use it for what it was meant to be used for. Change this situation. Change society. Add something benefitial to the world thy live in. Develop a consciousness. Become aware even if it means becoming a cliche.

endearing

when i woke this morning i realized that i have very little to do with the flow of this universe, in fact my pops sent me an email last night stating that i need to stop trying to do the universe’s job and give back it’s rights to control the flow. He stated this in relation to his belief structure with God which I realize that spirituality is just a universal thing, everyone has it in someway or another. I used to be afraid of God and remember when i was younger that I would go to hell if deviated from the “moral” values taught under certain Christian ideologies. At this point the tem “moral” has become a political agenda to me and I have taken up “ethics” as my social-spirtual framework. So this morning I say to myself remember that ethics are what keep you on the path to enlightenment and let the universe dictate in its own way what morals actually are and try not to buy into the political adgenda that forces the idea that morals are what we should follow.

Babies

This morning, 4:12am, sleeping. I woke to a noise at my door.
I have been sleeping on the couch since I cannot sleep in my bed lately, disrupted.
Scratch, scratch, rip, SNAP! A noise at my door.
I awake even more.
My senses are waking up to adrenaline leaking into my bloodstream.
At first I hide under my down comforter that has been living on the couch, I pull it up hard. I am a frightened child in the middle of the night when a monster escapes from the closet. Soon I gain my senses and tell myself that I am a 32, almost 33 year old man. I get up from the couch and leap to the door where I spy out of the peephole.
Nothing. It is dark, I can see a light from across the parking lot from my neighbor’s upstairs apartment.
Still nothing. I am at this point afraid that I may have watched too many horror movies. What is waiting for me outside my door?
I remember that time I watched Silver Bullet when I was 13, terrified of werewolves from years ago. Courage, courage, face your fears, open the door and look. No too scared, werewolves are at my door. Courage you moron you are not 13 anymore. Alright I will try to open the door.
Now i know this happens in the movies, hand shaking, can’t get control of my hands, shake shake.
Alright, now!
I swing the door open and look, nothing. I look over at Casey’s apartment, who moved in to the adjacent building on the floor level. I’m not sure why I looked to her aprartment, maybe for security and a reality check. Nothing, not a light on. Maybe she’s been scratching at my door? No, to early in the morning, besides she has better things to do.
I look down to my doormat, I realize it has been raining all night. I look at the doormat made of bound straw. Gnarled up. Shit werewolves! I knew it, I freeze up!
Step out onto the all weather carpet in my socks. Stand there frozen up, paralyzed, werewolves! My socks a absorbing the moisture from the outdoor carpet. I notice the trim siding from around the door has been pulled off, and the inards or the plastic pulled out a bit and buckling. Is my apartment sinking into the ground? Was there an earthquake? I look around the neighboorhood from my upstairs apartment were my feet are sopping wet, frozen to the deck.
Has the world ended?
It could have, people were shot at the university yesterday in Virginia and I did stay up late two nights ago to watch Moby Dick on PBS the other night.
Ok, now where were those werewolves? At this point I need another excuse to know that the world hadn’t ended and I wasn’t in some purgatory suburbia.
Dammit I need to justify why I have all of this adrenaline in my body! Some kind of reason to….CLAP. CLAP. CLAP. I realize that I am clapping No, banging my hands together very hard because my eyes have met the eyeys of another creature peaking up from my staircase.
Clap again, the thing scurries off down the stairs and I find myself looking over the edge of the railing….I am looking at a baby Racoon.