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.