Where is this going?

First, I hope everyone had a nice Easter weekend. I wish I had a sense of tradition for holidays. Not that my family doesn’t do holidays — we do. But I still don’t mind not having a celebration to attend or having family around. I’d much rather have my family around on a random Tuesday… we’d have dinner and talk late into the night about nothing in particular. I miss that.

“The man who doesn’t relax and hoot a few hoots voluntarily, now and then, is in great danger of hooting hoots and standing on his head for the edification of the pathologist and trained nurse, a little later on.”
–Elbert Hubbard

I have a headache. I’ve had it for about a week now. It is worse when I am at work or thinking about work. When I am at home, not thinking about it, I hardly notice it. I am extremely frustrated with the direction of my job and can’t seem to find a solution at the moment. Maybe there is no solution, but I am certainly not happy. It all feels so petty when I have to analyze it. Somehow, the concerns that drive me to tears while I am at the store seem so trivial when I am not there.

These are my complaints:
•Those hierarchically above me feeling entitled to whatever they want.
•Those same people complaining about having to work certain shifts, knowing that I write the schedules.
•All questions and concerns about the way the schedule is written requiring an impromptu meeting.
•Full-time employees planning work around their social lives instead of the other way around.
•Having more work to do than I can finish and receiving no help when I need it, even after requesting it.
•Bending the rules because certain employees are more “valuable” than others.
•Not having an outlet for venting frustrations.
•The things I do affecting people’s lives and others not understanding that.
•Having a supervisor who gives orders rather than working with me to get everything done.

I love my job. I really do. I like being entrusted with responsibility and am honored to be the person who makes so many decisions about the store. I feel perfect for the job, as I tend to have more patience than most and I am trustworthy. I know that my job will never be done; not only do I have to complete the same tasks every two weeks, but I also want to learn new things all the time and challenge myself to grow as a part of the company. That is difficult at the moment though. I feel like I can barely catch up enough to just get by.

I wanted to be a writer. I still do. But I feel like that is slipping further and further away, as I am in a line of work that requires a lot of work all day. Much of what I do is mental work, but that is just as taxing and I end up exhausted and disinterested by the time I get home. To calm down and resume the love of things I forget to enjoy requires me to spend a few hours with David or Heather just so I can collect my thoughts. Is my job getting in the way of my goals? I don’t want to believe that it is, but I am obviously not doing what I love to do as a result of what I need to do to pay the bills. And it barely does that.

Where am I going with this? I don’t really know. I don’t have a solution, as I have said. I don’t know if relieving some of the stress will fix the problem or not. I need the money I earn from working, but I need my dreams to be realized. How can I have both?

[Did I take a break from this blog? Not exactly. I have been so stressed out that I have been unable to focus on anything. I have done a lot of sleeping. I have done a little crying. I have been at David's and at Heather's. I have been escaping from my life through events rather than through the computer. It may be a loophole, but I am still using it Travis. Plus, I've been updating & adding poetry pages.]

Sometimes, I feel so aware of the world that it hurts. I feel like every second is so real that I can almost touch it; like time has slowed so much that it is tangible and everything is. In these moments, remembering to breath becomes a chore, as each lung creates disturbances within my chest. The air is often dripping with moisture, beads of water practically suspended, fully formed, in mid-air. These moments seem to exist for smoking — the soothing aroma combines with the moment and you feel like you are a million miles away, floating above this reality. Even now, long since smoke free, these fragments of time are both exhilerating and frightening; it can feel like time will not start up again.

Behind Enemy Lines

If there was ever going to be a subject that frightened those around me, this is it. I don’t mean to alarm those who have put so much trust in me — and indeed I am nothing if not loyal. However, after a year and a half working for Borders, I still feel like I am working for the other side — for Barnes & Noble. I’m not sure why I have yet to feel at home with the company I am now working for. Perhaps it is the many hours I put in at B&N that made it feel like my life.

I started working at Barnes & Noble in August 1998. I had just turned 19 and was full of ideas about how the world should work. During my interview, I told Marla that I would never quit unless I intended to move. I worked part time for some time, bouncing around from café to music to books. The work was straightforward enough, but a certain elitism came with working in a bookstore that I rather enjoyed. I also found my coworkers to be extremely tolerant of others, which I attribute to being more educated and well read than the average retail person.

After a couple years, I took a full-time position as “New Release Lead.” I was in charge of the front of store and the best sellers. After that position, as well as a temporary stint as “Newsstand Lead,” I became the “Gift Lead.” That was the position I used to really prove my value to the company. I excelled in merchandising the gifts & stationery section, increasing our stores sales dramatically in a very short amount of time. Within a few short months, I interviewed and was offered a position as Music Manager.

I loved managing the music department and I did it well. I had gained such a vast amount of product knowledge and was able to maintain the product so well that we almost never had shrink problems, and when we did there would be an obvious reason behind it. Everything was going pretty well there.

Problems really started when John passed away in 2004. He was my direct supervisor and close friend, as can happen when you work with someone for nearly 6 years. Halfway through a shift one day, he left, drove himself to the hospital, where he slipped into a coma and died several days later. His liver had failed, toxifying his entire body. I was devastated and the usual places to turn provided no comfort, as they too were mourning. I turned to Irene, a manager at our store whose popularity was never very high, which was no secret. That decision seemed to leave a mark on my relationships with both Brandy & Marla. But Marla wasn’t blameless in this. Her refusal to get a grief counselor for the store angered me so greatly that I thought about leaving the store. I didn’t.

Marla & I were not really getting along. Subconsciously, I was probably working to sabotoge her, while she tried to find any reason to find fault with the work I was doing. Our feud was evident throughout the store, even as we maintained the appearance of friendship. And we were starting to get better too; we were nearly getting along. That is when the worst thing happened that could have ever happened. On the anniversary of John’s death (give or take a day), JoBeth passed away. From the day the store opened, JoBeth had been the “store mom.” She was our “Head Cashier” and worked hard to make sure everyone was kind towards everyone else. She was one of the happiest people I’ve known, and one of the sassiest. She was a joy.

JoBeth had fought cancer for over a year and it was well known that she didn’t have much longer. She died at home, surrounded by her family and her dolls. It was very sad, but I took comfort in knowing she would no longer be suffering, as she had for so long. But once again, the store mourned alone. I didn’t know how to properly handle this loss and knew that it would be difficult to do so without help. I had just lost a grandmother at the end of 2000, the other in 2002, John in 2004, and now JoBeth in 2005. That is a lot of people to lose so close together. But it didn’t matter. Marla assumed that we could all handle it ourselves.

That was the beginning of the end. I could not have been more furious with Marla and she had to know it. She couldn’t have been more frustrated with me. I knew it. The tension between us was now so obvious that people could pinpoint us as the problem, but I no longer cared. In retrospect, although I feel that I was right about obtaining professional help, I am sure I was looking for someone to project blame on. I didn’t deal well with the whole situation and was sleeping a lot, as I was very depressed. That summer, I often cried myself to sleep for what seemed like no reason.

The third time I was late that summer, I had a feeling Marla would try to get rid of me… and I was really fed up. I had just returned from a small vacation and was leaving on another in a couple days. I decided I would use that time to look for a job in Dallas. At the end of my shift, before counting down my till, I gave my notice to Valeri, my manager at that point. However, while counting my money, Marla came in and let me go.

I don’t know how I feel about it, even now. I don’t think she had proper justification for firing me. It seemed a stretch after working there for 7 years, going most of them without even the most minor disciplinary action needing to be taken. Perhaps, it didn’t ever dawn on her that my problems stemmed from the loss of 2 coworkers in our store. Perhaps I could have worked through my issues more constructively if I had the proper channels to do so. Maybe not. And it is entirely possible that I was offered in order to save her job, as the store was having some major issues.

Whatever the reasons, regardless of anyone’s feelings, I felt betrayed. I didn’t want to leave my home — in fact, I still want to be there. Less than 2 months after working at B&N, I moved to Alaska. Up here, I found my job with Borders and started my new family. But it doesn’t feel right; it may never feel right. I invested too much of my life — I grew up with B&N. And now, I feel like I am working Borders from the perspective of a Barnes & Noble employee — like I am just waiting for a phone call to return to the place I really belong. But I think this may be where I belong now.

I do miss my life.

poems{miscellaneous}

Sleepy

I hold my breath,
artificially awake,
my mouth full of
unswallowed tea,
I stare blankly into the window
cluttered computer screen
and think about a stranger’s
beautiful face.
Realizing my distraction
and not knowing how
long I have been in this state
my mind races back to
the reality around me.
In a painful gulp
the tea is gone.

4.11.2007

Toltec Princess

Through blue and green,
through yellow grass -
she picks up her body, still heavy
from the long winter.
She yawns, stretches, begins
to creep across her home -
across the earth.
Sleep fades – the beautiful
black goddess begins to move
more swiftly than before.
Her muscles shimmer with
sunlight, moist with sweat.
She reaches up and brushes
her hundred-year-old hair,
gray with age. It trails her -
the wind catching it off her scalp,
raising it to heaven.
This feat of racing – charging through
the wood – draws a crowd -
restless spectators through the forest.

And then the enchantress sings.
Her followers’ hearts stop a moment -
they came here to hear her song.
They came for the song and the
sweet black perfume, which
rains as dust on their bodies.
She knows these people – they were
here last year, and years before;
and she loves them.
She moves her children – body and spirit.
She is strong and swift.
She is sweet.
This is 497’s dance -
a melodical ceremonial dance -
mysterious and magical and
routine. Will you wait for her?
Will you listen?

1999

Bullet Holes & War

an homage to Gertrude Stein

Here they lie, Daddy.
Here they lie.
They are here – still here.
They lie here, still, Daddy.
Under this dirt, they lie here,
Daddy – under this dirt and
this grass and dirt and grass.
They lie here still, Daddy -
under this dirt and grass.
They are still, Daddy,
sent under this dirt and grass -
by bullet holes and war.
The bullet holes killed them,
Daddy, and now
they lie here still, under
this dirt and grass.
The war and bullet holes
killed them, Daddy -
bullet holes in their heads -
and this is where they lie.
Yes, under this dirt and grass,
Daddy, this is where they lie.
Too many, Daddy, too many
to count. Too many died, Daddy.
Too many lie here – under
this dirt and grass -
too many lie here still.
The war and bullet holes
killed too many, Daddy, and
they lie here – under this dirt
and grass.
Forgive them, Daddy -
they didn’t know – they didn’t
mean to die. They didn’t want
to kill and didn’t mean to die.
Forgive them, Daddy.
The bullet holes and war killed
them – and here they lie, under
this dirt and grass.
Too many of them didn’t know -
didn’t mean to die.
Forgive them, Daddy,
forgive them.
Too many that lie here still
(yes, under this dirt and grass)
didn’t want to kill.
Here they lie, Daddy,
under this dirt and grass.
Forgive them for dying -
for killing – forgive them, Daddy.
Under this dirt and
under this grass, where they lie.
The war and bullet holes killed
them, Daddy, and here they lie.
Can you blame them?
Forgive them, Daddy, forgive.
Here they lie – they lie still -
under this dirt and grass.

7.22.1999

The Day the Sun Died

spark! flash!
             DARKNESS -
the sun went out
(it's Friday afternoon)
coldness settling
bringing death, sleep
frozen.
Long live the King!
the sun is gone.
         The Son is gone.

Darkness fading into light
cold to warm
warm from cold
death is a pause -
unmoved, still, restless, alive.

flash! spark!
fires from heaven
(days since death)
the sun has returned.
         The Son has returned.
belief, sincerity -
death succeeded them.

heaven opens - sky doors
take Him back.
love is dead - it died with him.
departure brings peace, chaos,
hypocrisy.
Long live the King!
the sun has returned.
        the Son is gone.
Light is darkness.
coldness is warmth.
spark! flash! gone.

1999

Wanderlust

Swish, swish
wind and cold — who was there?
Who is there?
I knew you lived there –
but I don’t think I know you…
She said you’d be here –
aren’t you early.
rush, rush
confusion, speed — hold on to me…
Don’t jump ship.
She’s lost, but had a great
life. 20 years and it’s
time to sink.
Get out before your happy and
stable.
Go to Virginia or California or Washington State.
Sitting in the middle of a
crowd — right in the mosh pit –
it’s like suicide… Great Plains
murdering innocent natives.
Take me with you — Let’s go to Canada or
Connecticut — I need a coastline.

4.6.1999

poems{childhood,family}

St Patrick’s Moon

St Patrick’s moon shone
gently on us as we left
Texas, back to our lives.
The brief stays seem sad
and this was the last visit
with all of us single.

St Patrick’s moon shone
on the new baby — born
to make some forget
the tragedy its birthday
marked — the sadness of
this anniversary of death.

St Patrick’s moon shone
through the just-cracked blinds
on Laurisa’s face — the new
life growing within her body.
More family, more joy,
more love to make us forget.

St Patrick’s moon shone
through the rear window of
JD’s car onto my face as
I smiled. My life seems
to be getting closer to real.
I laughed a little because
life can be so wonderful.

3.17.2003

eight

The peacocks called for help as they always did,
the red dust had dulled the color of their feathers.
I figured that was the reason they called for help.
We arrived at my uncle’s farm that morning – around ten.
The hotel breakfast – a pastry and juice – was enough.
I don’t remember everything – just that
I liked those birds – and somehow
always ended up at the creek – I had chased
one of the peacocks down there, through the long vacant
hog pen – our usual route.
It was a game – and the peacock played along.
Sometimes the chase was interrupted by
Uncle Earl’s large black turkey.
The turkey would warble and hiss.
I would try to scare the turkey away,
while my companion would wait
on a nearby chicken coupe or fence post.
The birds would never follow me down to the
hay barn – I went down there for that reason sometimes.
It was always quiet and still.
I’d always find myself, eventually, on the roof
of Earl’s house – my brothers would be lost
in their world of video games,
my mother might be chatting with her cousin
on the porch – catching up from last summer.
But I would be on the roof – looking out at the immensity -
from the hay barn (just barley visible) to the creek,
running the length of the farm.
I was almost scared of it, and sitting up on the roof,
I’d plan my next rendez-vous
with the peacocks.

6.5.1999

little SUPERHEROES

we considered our capes
and took them seriously.
my brother and i, we were
powerful and strong.
we defended the universe
(or our little piece of it)
from evil forces; frogs
and butterflies and
horned-toads.
we claimed a tall elm
for our hideout. the
arsenal placed there
at our feet was perfect
to fight evil forces.
occasionally we would
capture a horned-toad,
just as we were called in
for dinner. we’d let
the horned-toad go and
we would “fly” inside.
all in a days work for
SUPERHEROES.

1999

Miracle

for Jennie Lloyd’s baby

Enveloped in darkness –
surrounded by perfect blackness
(the comfort of mother
on all sides)
Grow gracefully, child of
Love — inside your peaceful shelter.

Your mother is special — young and
full of energy and wonderful
thoughts and hopes and you.
Kiss her often, precious
child of God.

Feel the smile you bring
to her face when
your mother sees herself
in you and sees
things she wishes she could be.

Be careful of the world.
Hold tightly to the hands
that guide and protect you.
Know when to run home and
when to soar free.

Sometimes parents need
a shoulder to cry on –
welcome that moment
and comfort those who need you,
child of Light.

Be who you know you are.
Don’t let the world hold you back.
You can be whoever you want.
I look forward to knowing you,
child of Jennie.

2.20.2000

Shyness

Spoiled with love and round –
the two-year-old look.
His bright wide eyes look
in wonderment.
The figures to him
are blurred and scary –
he doesn’t smile

10.5.1998

poems{Frank O’Hara}

Sleeping At Lunch

I dreamt I was Frank O’Hara.
I softly kissed Larry Rivers on the forehead
and it was again Rachmaninoff’s birthday.

I took a walk along the familiar path
where I once stopped to type something up,
a poem perhaps or maybe just a note for you.

I detoured down to the apartment where we all lived,
that foul address. God, we were happy when we left!
I remembered a story Joe told and how it made me smile
through the haze of the lumped-together smoke.

I made my way back from lunch to the museum.
Mike had made a cake because they had all forgotten me,
but the cake was no good because Mike is not a baker.

And then I woke up. And I remembered having
been him, but not having been him. Imagine!

7.25.2004

The Poet

As I look into the face of a man
33 years postmortem, enough time for Jesus
Time enough to realize -- to gain beliefs.
He isn't watching over

			he is part of me.  I can
feel it in the way his eyes were blue and in
the way he was Irish -- not fully, but enough.
O'Hara -- O'Hara -- O'Hara.

			I praise him leaning
on a door or a wall.  I praise him wired with
energy... too much energy.

			He made me an insomniac.
He got away with it.  If I make dots on
the paper -- salty wet dots, it's realization,
it's discovery!  it's wow!  And maybe I should
go to a movie, buy some flowers and a new
typewriter -- to peck away at in my own way.
I long for lunch poetry and Joe LaSueur.

Come Frank, I am waiting.

1.29.2000

poems{introspection,self}

untitled ['buffalo']

inside a herd of tiny buffalo stampede me towards my next moments
occasionally they pause to graze on memories i’m done with and information i just never used
and then they get restless again
snorting and butting heads, kicking the ground and grunting
and in tandem they all start off again
some days i wish i could tame them, corral them into a fence and brand them
but in doing so i might stop being me

3.15.2008

untitled ['evil']

Perhaps we expect too much of the dead
assuming their now saintly statuses –
dooming former loved ones to watch us

The cats are restless
stirring as they do when I need
to be lost in thought
They are minions sent to keep
me from discovering my true self
sent to distract me from revealing
the mysteries in my soul

They will fail

Is all of existence a vessel of evil?
Maybe it is just me, here, now
that needs to know that evil exists
Only this can prove the presence of good
and that life is meaningful

I want to know everything

I’m worried about my dead friends
and somehow upset that others have left me
rather than just dying
At least death cannot be my fault
It is easier than accepting
that I am not always enough

8.17.2006 / 10.10.2007

Sadness

A dark hand clutches
my heart,
the tissue sliding
gently through fingers
as I slowly die.
Weak and cold,
I fall to the floor.

7.25.2004

untitled ['apathy']

Apathy washed over me today.
It ran in streams down my back
and soaked into my pores.
I drank it; became intoxicated by
the dark splendor of emotionlessness.
But I didn’t care.
In the rising tides of apathy,
I smoked a cigarette until
the waves engulfed me
and I drowned.

7.20.2004

Six Thoughts On Being

I
I let myself get sunburned again,
like I do every year.
This is a lesson I may never learn.

II
How strange a new hole seems
when it’s tender and swollen.
And how difficult it is to not
have it filled once it has healed.

III
Turquoise makes me sad
because my grandmother is dead.

IV
It would have been nice to have
been Frank O’Hara — to have written
those things and to be remembered.
But I don’t own a typewriter and
I just realized that I am not sad.
And look! Words.

V
I need more Texas and more sleep
and I miss my mother, who I haven’t seen
in three months. I hate North Carolina.

VI
I want something beautiful
tattooed on my arm
and I want a joint.
I want the sweetness
of something intoxicating
to fill my lungs
and make me feel alive.
Even now I can taste
that distant memory
and crave it.

7.15.2004

untitled ['myself']

I saw a photo of myself –
realized the pain of being me;
the torment of looking the way I do.
And I still enjoy being me.
I sank deeply into self loathing;
directly began self destruction.
I began to want out of myself.
Agony of self-awareness and the
harshness of feeling defeated by
my own body.
And suddenly I was tired.
I am still tired, still angry, still depressed.

5.12.2003

Six Thoughts On Being Added

I
Are you the one I wanted
to have sex with tonight?
Or were you just the one
who I was meeting for
an interview at a place
I didn’t want to work
(and would probably get
fired from for having sex
with you in the stock room)?

II
Fellow blogger: do I know you?
Can we forget to be cordial sometimes?
All of this can be so exhausting.

III
I have finally arrived at
acceptance.

IV
I feel completely loved… understood.
The fragile boy clicks on my name.
He is looking for someone else…
someone like himself.
The little boy doesn’t want to kill
himself anymore.
He wants to be loved
and he reaches out for help.

V
Eventually, we married. But not right now.
Tomorrow is when I met him. Tomorrow is
when he decided to put me on his list.
Tomorrow is when I became his friend.
But today I don’t even know him.

VI
Leave me alone!

7.24.2004

poems{love,attraction,lust}

Someone Else’s Lover

He tiptoes up the concrete steps
in stolen tennis shoes.
He sneaks into the orange glow
of my cold apartment.
I can sense it — he is here for sex.
We play video games and tickling
games and pretend to make
small talk while we wrestle,
rubbing deliberately the tender
places of the body that make things
pop and harden. I pull back –
or he does — and I keep thinking
how much he belongs to
somebody else and how much
I don’t care. I gently bite at the
veins of his neck as he tries to
continue the video game.
And soon he leaves.

2.20.2002

J.

Dear naked one –
smooth and beautiful:
teach me to fuck and love
and bite my ear to show me
that I am doing well.
Your lips are soft and strong
and I need them.
You can do anything to me –
my body is yours.
Caress my tender, virgin parts
and suck rapturously on my
toungue as I slide it into your mouth.

2.19.2002

Another On Sex With J.

It must end
You sweet boy
so young and Polish
I enjoy our games
our endless foreplay
You flatter me with your
nibbles and kisses
and your touch
I enjoy each finger
that runs through my hair
that sensual look
of near pain
that pillowy moan
I anticipate your visits
your creeping up stairs
to conduct this romance
this hidden affair
I miss you even as
I close the door
and I am overjoyed as
you reenter
But oh my sweet
my beauty my child
let’s stop here
where our togetherness
will be remembered
so fondly that future
encounters with similar
strangers are measured
against the intensity that
we share here

2.24.2002

Preston’s Hold
for Johnny

The fear. Consuming fear and self-denial.
A dream of love – a school-boy fantasy -
crushed by the vise of injustice for self, by
society. I can’t give myself to you if you hide.

Can two people know each other in darkness?
Can a heart survive the cruel coldness
of lonliness? Kiss me (I know it won’t happen)
Dream of me – of us. Kill the fear of damnation.

It is over and you are gone. I always held on
too loosely, never tried hard enough. I needed
your hands, your touch, your morning voice -
soft and honest. I needed plans, and you…

Kiss me again, this time tenderly, and tell me
it is all okay – love me from wherever you are.
More importantly, be my friend – remind me
of who I wanted and who I wanted to be.

Need is dangerous – I still feel you.

6.5.1999

At First Sight

Blond hair whisps by,
smelling sweetly of overpriced
shampoo. In an instant, he is gone;
the young man whose name
I didn’t get. The beautiful boy
whom I saw for just a second
and fell deeply in love with.
He disappeared, swallowed up
by the rhythmic crowd, too far
away to reach. My heart is broken.

6.9.2002

Austin, Texas

Our bodies gyrate to the thud
after thud after thud of the brand-new-
pop-songs-turned-dance-grooves
by some cookie-cutter drugged up DJ.

Little boys bounce to the rhythm
all around us as we bump together –
he is a tiger (grrr). I want him closer.
A shirt comes off and we rub
one another — I am his.

In another song and a half, he teases –
swooping in and licking my lips gently.
Suddenly, our lips lock in the confusion.
The exchange is long — he tastes
delicious his tongue dances masterfully
in my all too eager mouth. I am alive!

We know. The little boy came here
only to leave a man. I came here to
seduce him. We leave content,
failing in our missions, but with a new
discovery to haunt and excite us.

That night has made me. It is the
only night I’’ve ever known who I am –
who I want — what life means.

3.18.2002

Manhattan Cowboy Fantasy Cycle:

Manhattan Cowboy I

My small child part –
(the part that misses
fruity cereal flavored milk)
it does not understand
those feelings of longing.
It sleeps and plays and
frolics alone.

A smell wakes me from
childhood. I am lonely.
Leather and old cologne and
sweat. I can feel the
strength of the presence.
The memory and anticipation of
desires — I sigh and wait, knowing
what I’ve never known before.

The part of me which will end
this life knows the answer –
will I get my cowboy? Will
I be swept away? I need it.
The wide hat and tough
boots make sensations creep
through my heart and groin
and eyes — feeling I’ve never known.

The current part of me
is looking — weeding through
thousands. I’m looking
for the beautiful city boy
with bad habits I want to hate
and a permanent scent of leather.

Amazing grace
How sweet the sound
that saved a wretch like me
I was once was lost
but now I’m found
Was blind
but now I see.

Lord, deliver my James Dean
Bring him to me — to
take me and overtake me.
I can already feel his body.

12.28.2000

Manhattan Cowboy II

The lanky man stands in the doorway –
a cigarette hanging loosely and deliberately
from his pouty lips.
I call his name from behind,
longing for him to be too close to me.
His cigarette flies out to the sidewalk
and I can feel my stomach clench,
knowing he is turning toward me.
Closing in on me, his right hand grabs my arm –
gently; his left arm pulls me forward,
his whole hand spread out on the small of my back.
Our lips touch — mine moistening his –
as we try in a futile attempt to get even closer.
My hands become alive — finding his back.
I cup his head in my palm, my fingers
deeply sunken into his thick hair.
I pull and the passion becomes more intense –
everything is wet and beautiful.

We release and he kisses me softly on the cheek.
He drags his hand across my chest as he passes
me and reclines on the sofa — seductively.
I find a home on the facing chair, content to watch
the angel sleep. Soon, I too am asleep.

it is well
it is well with my soul.

For hours we sleep, finding ourselves eventually
huddled together on the sofa or floor,
locked in a tangle of arms and legs.
We’ll grow old, cherishing these afternoons.
The Lord has delivered.

10.29.2001

Manhattan Cowboy III

Ten years ago, my cowboy rode home.
I imagined the sunset and the horse
through the skyscrapers
as the minister gave
a falsely sympathetic eulogy.
The years of bliss had not been tarnished
by the ignorance of others.

Our passion was wild and it sustained us
through every good time and every crisis.
We believed in one another
and on days when I was depressed
over my mother’s death or my failing health,
he’d pick up a bouquet
of the most beautiful red daisies
and we’d spend the evening holding each other,
his masculine force set aside
for the more important task of comforting.

And even in later years –
with his medical nightmares
that sent him from hospital to hospital
with no answers, it was always him
who carried me. The delivered one –
sent to me from the Lord.
My guardian cowboy.

Now it’s my turn to cross over –
to see the other side.
To go to the city beyond death,
where the cowboys stay young,
and the passion is intense,
and where there is only love,
and my sweet will be waiting for me to be called home.

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling
Calling for you and for me
See on the portals he’s waiting and watching
Watching for you and for me.

As the world fades –
anticipation takes over.
I am desperate to be
reunited with my love.

11.2.2001

poems{friends}

David Eugene, look at me when I am thinking of you!

I declare myself a child of narcissism. I’m a disciple,
a follower of the most newly found.

Love is disguised well in sarcasm, in moments of mocking and making-fun.
I only see the Davids of this world for who they are and rarely for who they want me to see,
longing for who others make me want to be,
afraid [at times] of whom they’ll believe me to want and afraid they’ll think it is always him.
Oh David, do you not recognize the idolatry in my loyalty?
Doesn’t my face give away the desire to be looking into my own face as I look at you?

It does if you’d look up and see my eyes, the tears still kept close, pooling in my eyelids.
I became me such a short time ago; being someone else doesn’t seem so drastic.
I wonder why I cower in my corner, shy away into the safety of home
when safety comes from experiencing the world and those in it.
Denial of this truth makes me feel safe, despite so many shouting it like anthems,
begging me to listen

Love means replacing my foolishness with the needs of friends,
an act that is excruciatingly joyous.
David is more important than I am — more than I am.
[so too are the others, whose hearts I meant to steal while I had the chance]
They exist, whereas I seem like mere fragments of their lives, real on their terms.
Reassurance is nice; I’m not looking for pats on my head
like a Lhasa Apso with its head cocked to one side, no attention ever enough.
My needs are basic — understanding and compassion and selflessness;
a recognition of value.

To require selflessness is selfish.
If I am to be the tucked into the shadows, part of other people’s lives, but only negligibly,
then I should be rewarded with love — romantic love. I should and will.
Heartache is trite, but I dwell on it even as I try to set it free,
unchaining my tongue, allowing bravery to escape.
I release my heartache in the name of becoming that person who I see in David,
who has been rewarded for his beauty and brazen spirit
with love and sex, but more importantly companionship [warmth].

I humbly bow and request my turn, giving thanks
for less obvious, yet still true love and for great aspirations.
For life and someone to share my dinners and wine with,
models set by those I so desperately wish I could be, I can still only long and wait.
But I don’t wait alone and my side is crowded with those too ashamed to admit how they really feel.

3.17.2008

Heather
for a friendship I hope has more life in it

She’s liquid.
I grasp for her, for who we were,
for what I wish I could will her to be;
she slips through fingers too ill equipped
to manage with the wetness of our friendship.
In vain, I clutch too hard;
the last of what we are escapes silently.

3.17.2008

Hop Off, Little Lapin
for Jennie Lloyd

hop hop  skip skip  hop hop  skip!
little flowered
bunny-eared...      sugarsugar
                              hi!

bounce bounce  jump jump jump!
cute-in-white
halo-clad...   curtsy for the audience.

clap clap  yell yell clap clap clap!
carbonated
caffeinated        coffeecoffee
                               more!

wave wave  bye bye bye!
don't forget me...
I won't forget you   jenniejennie

                                 babe!

6.5.1999

Jerry Pt I

My heart still hurts and I still love you, my friend.
I don’t understand why you ran away. I never will.
Your boyfriend’s hold was too much;
his approval was too important to you.
So, you left.

You left me.

My arms will still be open, my home yours,
if you ever need it — need me.
My life has a space reserved for you,
beautiful friend.

7.1.2005

Meghan

Life rips you apart

You will learn to
find the pieces you
thought were lost

You will learn to put
them together again

Life doesn’t care

Spit in the face
of an apathetic world
tell it to shove off
and be happy

Love in spite of
the bitterness
in spite of
divorce and sickness
in spite of everything

You don’t know yet

You don’t realize
how good life can be
how this tearing
will not last

5.30.2005

Unwizened
for Lori

Quietly, a young woman
starts a fresh pot of coffee
and returns to her book.

It is an escape from a life –
from her life, too full of
parental expectations,
occupational expectations,
her own expectations.

Finding love between the pages
proves a far easier task than
taking risks and finding
men who fall short of
the dreams she has for her life.

With a few gurgles,
the coffee is ready and she
lights up a cigarette.

She is making her own life,
despite the pressures to marry.
“Family” doesn’t seem
defined the way it used to be.

Alone in her apartment,
another chapter of the
often read romance novel,
she puffs, she sips.

Someday, she may realize
something she has always known:
This life belongs to her
and there is no right way to live.

Friends become siblings and
expectations melt away.
She has realized her dreams.
There is no expiration on living
your life the way you want.
There is no prerequisite to happiness.

Soon, she will discover how
futile it is to hate herself.
And then she will find love
waiting for her.

The young woman picks up the book
and starts a new chapter and cries.

5.30.2005

Cold Betrayal
on being stranded in Alaska

January had been full of
animal dinners and parties
when sadness was setting in
and Lori left suddenly after
and exchange of anger-charged words

I was lost during those cold weeks
that followed and couldn’t keep up
Life rushed by and stood still

I know about the carefully discarded
cigarette butts in bottles of soda
and the mornings of coffee and romance
empty mornings and safe

I had days when I didn’t eat
that spring and the cheap dinners
of tasteless noodles seemed
heavenly after

The pain doesn’t last and Justin
stayed with me until I wasn’t unhappy
anymore which was a long time
Then he went home to his life and
left me to forge my new life from
this strange place

Sometimes I want to forget Lori’s face
but I keep getting it stuck in my head
I had a dream with hundreds of hens
flocking around me and
they all screamed Lori’s name
and I realized that I still love her

despite not being able to hold on enough
to keep her near me
I am floating above this frozen place
this city of refugees lumped together
from many corners of other places

I don’t care anymore about knowing about the
coffee and the cigarettes and the novels
it doesn’t matter that people are happy when
I can’t decide what would make me happy
but I wish the hens would stop reminding me

4.2.2007

Maybe It’ll Last

Yes, you are the butch, aren’t you?
Sipping our sodas — bellies full of burritos
Don’t fall on your head, find feet and grab hold of a tiny red car,
yours or mine, it doesn’t matter which. I’m obligated to laugh.
Riding around these cold afternoons, the winter is holding on as best it can,
your head seemed as full as mine of new information,
of disappointments, of distractions, of fear (but I’m not telling).
The newness of new is wearing off quickly, but don’t take one giant step back.
It’s all the same, you’re all the same, I’m all the same,
the characters keep changing, but the plot never does.
I’m starting to attach to people, remind myself of where I meant this to be.
Finding your way with bitter guides is hard.
At least we can jump into a car and run away for an hour.
So, you be the butch, with your harem waiting at home, and I’ll be your sidekick,
the Madonna loving, muscle shirt wearing, swishy fag
who waits for your direction, but still gives orders as if I was your boss.
Don’t report to me or their will be Hell to pay, trust me.

3.21.2008

poems{loneliness}

I’d like him to wear boots [sometimes], thinking they are sexy
or, This is why people like me shouldn’t be alone
for my heart, which is lonely

If only for a moment, I should receive the happiness I’ve earned.

Winter is long and I seem to be one of the few who wouldn’t have it be any shorter. It gives me hopes of cuddling up with someone, losing myself in another person’s warmth.

Shake me, so I’ll realize you really are there and this has all been a dream. Wrap your arms around me and we’ll go back to sleep.

People seem happy when they are in love and I just go about my business pretending not to notice.

This will seem so distant someday soon. I’ll be astounded at how young I was and how naive. I’ll read this aloud, amusing someone else with how lonely I seemed and how desperate it all was. I’ll give him a hug — a peck on the cheek and tell him how lucky I am to have someone so wonderful in my life. He’ll make a sarcastic quip, as though the sentiment was lost, but he’ll have heard me. And he’ll silently agree.

I’m using “the Secret,” hoping for an attorney from Lubbock. Or maybe just more money. Or maybe some guy with no job, still living at home.

I want to feel taken [for granted].

Should it come up in conversation, make me sound easy without sounding too slutty. I want to assert my availability without attracting the wrong set of people. I think you know who to look out for. Make sure they aren’t wearing lavender… or chaps. No, wait, chaps can be hot.

I have secrets to whisper to you when we are alone.

3.13.2008

twenty-four

Will this winter chill lift from my heart and allow me to find love? In the ice covered and mad city I can’t see anyone worth knowing, worth loving. I need my knight. This curse is too much.

1.5.2001

one

I can feel the morning. The richness of new sun on glass skyscrapers and parks and children on their way to school. My coffee is company enough to enjoy the silence, the peace, broken for moments at a time as one person or another fumbles with keys and papers and children down the stairs. I am so lonely here.

1.21.2001

eighteen

It is time to bury the youth — the naivete; put away insecurity and fear and doubt. It is time to mature — really mature and see the joy of being me. But sleep is more within reach just now — and I can mature when I wake.

9.26.00

five

I am alone. I can’t think today, or work, or have a cup of coffee without
feeling like a fool — a lonely soul lost in the game, the life-waltz. Do my
parents understand — truly understand that to be me is to want, to
love, to long, to hate, to read, to grow, to cry, to laugh. Do they
realize that I haven’t changed since I first sprouted in this earth? I’ve been
tested and questioned. I am ready to turn in — to rest. There is a pile
of papers and twenty messages for me. I must do some work. Will I
ever be able to survive without the shade of my parents? Will I grow
in the full sun? And there in the sun, withering, will my parents be able
to see that I am as human as they are, and that I need them to help
shade the sun at times, but not to hide me from it completely. I long
for the danger I fear.

1.21.00

twelve

I remember holding back tears as G told me how soft I was, killing the small insect — green and perfect. Moments before I observed it, now crushed. I felt like that creature — crushed.

1.29.2000

zero

I am the one who flew you in here –
from other places, places I haven’t been –
it was me. I can’t make you look at me –
my eyes, my lips, my hair, my waist
Don’t look, there is nothing to see
and I don’t want you looking anyway.
I believed what I was told about beauty and love
Nothing is inside.
I tried to produce a reasonable excuse for you to still be here and I get nothing.
I feel terrible that I may want you
and will never know you because of this world.
I can’t sleep with confusion and doubt
fear regret pain mystery hatred.
Can you be near me and soothe me
I ache and can’t stop running now
I have tried to run from you — stop chasing me and leave me alone
it is so cold here by myself.
I can’t live knowing I’m not loved
be quiet mind and put out the raging fires.
Gray may be all I know.

6.12.2000

nine

The newness of morning would not yet have been cleared from my eyes as I would sit with my brothers on the floor in the living room to watch cartoons and eat cereal. We always drank the milk leftover from our overpouring. It was sweet and fruity, raspberry and cherry. I can’t forget the taste — the feeling of summer mornings. I can never feel that again. And my brothers with further complicated lives no longer sit by one another, but fight for the recliner — who can be most comfortable — and who will win…

1.29.2000

seventeen
in memory of Mike Henson

Once again a death made me numb. But this time I finally cried, and I never cry when people die — I just can’t. But Mike… she was strong, mentally, physically. She became consumed with cancer, which trickingly fled the body and suddenly returned without warning… One final blow. There are not others like Mike and I am cold at the thought that I will never know others like her. Some people seem to never get sick or hurt — they spend their lives carrying others, nursing, loving. If we stop riding on the backs of these people, who seem happy to have us there, we might see them cry or cringe in pain from the awful weight of so many in need. These deaths are tragic. When the strong have gone, the rest of us must learn how to walk… must help each other to fill the shoes of the one we lost. When it set in — when the hard fact set in, I cried. I cried knowing that I would never see her loving stride, her tender and honest smile, her patient eyes. I cried. Every inch of me trembled at the terrible revelation of her now permanent absence. And somehow, peace has followed. Rest well, dear friend.

9.26.2000

sixteen
in memory of Daisy Duncan

I like to think that people never die – that they are indestructible. God sees things differently, though. Each time I am convinced of a person’s immortality, they die. And tragic deaths might make my suffering easy (forgetting the pain of the dying ones). However, God caters to the needs of many and takes them silently and without pain. You can’t understand Him, you can’t see his plan, but it is there and it is everywhere and you breathe it and you eat it and and and and. I can’t not move on anymore. must run. If I stop to have a chat I get attached and that’s when you cry (or get so upset you just can’t cry). When you love someone with such a strong love… I am going to let God do it all… I don’t want to understand. I will watch and I will cry until it is my turn to prove mortality (or my soul’s immortality).

6.12.2000

two

If I break a cup or a bowl in the living room of this dusty apartment, it
will just lie there for months. I can’t bring myself to pretend that I am
expecting somebody.

1.21.2000

twenty-one

We are still here on the cusp of all that is to come. At 21, in the 21st century, I still know nothing but pain and separation. People die quickly, and I have surrounded myself with them. G passed one week and one day ago, and Mike in August (Daisy passed sooner). I am on the verge of all that seems real and right, but I am pulled back by childhood friends, the gods and goddesses I needed. I feel more and more as loved ones die that I am growing a little more into a real man. Perhaps my father experienced such a growth this month, and I feel blessed that I have not had to grow on his behalf. The world is a different place and the ideals I cherish (those of the fifties sitcoms and fantasies) are dead. I think we will be better because of it, but I somehow am not consoled by that fact. I fear becoming my parents and I know that it is important – no – imperative that I do. I can’t believe that I can no longer visit western Oklahoma without feeling a great deal of grief. I thought I liked it just for the simple things. I guess it was always G. Sadly, I doubt it was Grandma McGuire — always G. I watched an eclipse with her shortly after her mother died. Christmas Day there was an eclipse. It all comes back to her eventually.

1.26.2000