Crazy times poem, written in the desert, February 2025
The old man walked out of the desert
with a knife on his hip
and jewels in his palms
and warned
of destruction.
His voice echoed
he warned
a lesson would be repeated until it is learned.
And he planted the seed
and I fear Rube Goldberg’s
bitter cosmic machine
has already set its thousand teeth to grind
and the future is already in motion.
Are you my lesson, my love?
Is there a thief inside the castle?
Even now, as the horizon thickens
and the tempest begins to swirl
my thumb feels too heavy to answer the call
my ears only long for silence, you see
and no matter the music
it is still noise.
The dogs howl and scream
distrustful of the gnarled forms of the cacti splayed against the starry backdrop.
The morning slaps me
and shines a flashlight in my face.
The beetles have got to work early again.
Their buzzing, saw inside my head
cutting the strands of my top rope.
Sleep has decided it only wants to wrestle, lately.
I thought I had earned it?
To Never be Sad Again
now that I Have the New Thing™
but I have had to start wearing my biteplate again
and I have had to start counting cigarettes again
and the music won’t come, either.
Why, now, have you chosen to leave me?
Why, now, can my fingers
not find their favourite nooks and crannies
in the sonosphere?
(or a better question, perhaps)
Why are they no longer welcome?
Why have you forsaken me?
Have I fallen from favour?
Have I fallen from grace?
I can glue my hair back on
(I kept it)
but it won’t look the same.
Bones in the sand, January 2025
Evidence of you lies everywhere
your scent on my sweater
a strand of your hair
still left on your pillow
you stranded it there.
I wish I could say you strung me along
say you stranded me here
put hate in this psalm,
cause not so long ago, I hadn’t cried in so long
and now I cry often
I’m here and you’re gone.
But I told you to leave
I said you should go
that a plant must show leaves
to the sun, so she grows
that in learning to live,
you must run, you must fall
but now I just wish
I’d said nothing at all.
Now I walk past the ladders
and lives that we built
the fire we laid
the soil we tilled
like bones in the sand
the hours we killed
I only feel empty because I was filled.
My head only learned
to feel heavy of late
since I don’t have your lap
to help carry its weight.
And now I find cold
in the cold of the dark
though you’re not on my skin
you’re still in my heart.
Derivative of Ross Gay, or Mary Oliver, November 2024
Why should I hide?
For the blue of the sky is not discreet
nor is the song of the birds
nor the thunder of the water-fall.
The songs of life ring true all around
and the sun lets every one
show his colour proudly.
Why should I walk softly
while the hooves of the bison thunder across the plains?
Why should I not yell
and laugh
and sing
while the bumble-bee’s wings
trumpet forth their triumph
against our clumsy understanding of aerodynamics?
I am born
with a song in my chest
fire in my veins
and a light in my eyes
that nothing has yet extinguished.
So I will follow suit
and bellow forth
my cries of victory
stating my place
in the order and way of all things.
written in the parking lot of the oregon dunes, october 2024
My mother’s warning rings in my memory
reminding me not to eat strange berries
“See? It’s fine!” You say, and casually pop a plump one into your mouth.
I trust you. I trust you. I trust.
I love you. I want you to love me.
I pop one into my mouth, trying to also appear casual. My teeth puncture the
berry’s tender skin.
The blue berry is a blueberry after all. You smile big, your mouth stained
purple, and bring another to your lips with mock pomp and ceremony.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I want to live here forever.
You select another berry from among the vivid leaves and toss it to me. It
hovers impossibly for a second. My jaws snap shut around it. It explodes in
my mouth. I laugh, and you laugh louder, telling me how my tongue is purple.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
You want to try. Your mouth open wide, I lob a big berry to you. It hits your
tooth. You want to try again, and again.
“It’s harder than it looks!” You protest.
It isn’t.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I would throw you a million berries, if you let me.
I would pick the mountain clean.
You catch one. Your eyes are on fire. I promise you delete the videos of you
missing them, snapping your jaw at nothing. I’m lying. You know it. I have
never deleted a picture of you. I would fill hard-drives, I would bog down the
cloud until it rains identical pictures of you with a dumb hair-do.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
written while sitting on the ground beside an orange vendor, in india, march 2024
I learned to love a woman
who loved oranges, so sweet
and whenever she would eat one
she’d give a half to me
my lover was a poet, though
she could have got by as a muse
and in her favourite poems
an orange she would use
for she once received a blessing
from an old-time friend, you see
may you always share your orange
even if it’s not with me
so she learned to love an orange
and she learned to love me too
and if your friend has an orange
I pray they share a half with you
written at my kitchen table in Sri Lanka, march 2024
a soft name in my mouth
with the taste of a prayer
commands reverence
I am warned it must be whispered
for to cry it would evoke
the miracles of Gideon
to siege walls within my own territory.
Catastrophic, with the cadence
of a hurricane
tearing roof-tiles from an ancient lid
flooding the corners of my eyes,
winds who seem to gust only in the ventricles
of my own wide-open heart
a holy violence
such that the delicate moths and butterflies
have migrated to my stomach
a hex, a fever which seems to only burn
in my cheeks and the tips of my ears
nothing to be done by a modern medicine man.
Sequestered here with the ocean, old friend
gently caressing my soul
a feeling of home
of sweet dreams
of sixteen
of setting off on a grand adventure
of running to and running from
eyes mind heart and soul
wide as the first time I was born
written at christmas time, in my family's home, 2023
And now I can taste it, in her mouth
that poison she shrank to love
rot seeps from her pores
once sweet like honeydew, honey you sweet
no more
Fuck
it’s getting on my skin.
I’m frightened as she pulls me in
wordless siren’s song, been far too long
I pay my penance again.
My God, my reward, my eternal reward
sweet death for a short second
our souls intertwined
cell walls mish-mashed, crock-pot,
warm bath, too-hot,
red skin, wrinkled fingers,
conditioned curls
your scent still lingers
through the smoke-screen
a memory, see
I once loved a girl
written in my notes app, date deleted, summer of 2023
my love spreads thin
threadbare
across all four corners of the bed you hold me in
wrapped around all my favourite hearts
we all lift it high into the air
I can see
the warm sunlight filtering through the well-worn patches
we tuck it under our bums
and make a big tent
we tell the same jokes until
the air sneaks out far too fast
I’ll straighten the corners
and carefully lay out
the smiles of my friends
the tears of my mother
orange slices, smooth stones,
polaroids, grandparent’s homes
tie it around a thick stick
and place it, rough
over my shoulder
it scratches a little bit
but I’ll never let go