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