That same time has come again,
this anticipation of flight
where the change of location
will become so vast
that my alphabet will be forgotten
and my body will grow accustomed
to different kinds of food,
but these hands will still feel the earth,
my face will recognize the sun.
All I’m waiting for now is the shift,
something so strong
it can only be called blatant
and as I prepare myself
all I give myself are maps and strategies
an enough time to pack my bags.
I want to walk across borders,
I want my fingers to learn the language of railings,
something to guide this blind ambition
where places once again become
somewhere to meet,
no longer where I’m from,
or where I’m going
just the moving ground
beneath my worn-out shoes
as a constant, something that can live past the reminder
and flow with the lives
that are ready to survive.
Monthly Archives: September 2013
That same time has come again,
When I look back
I want to know what face was mine,
I want my deeds to be something recognizable
among other lives
to have someone say that I helped them
that something that I’ve done might ripple
and the way I landed on this earth
would be like hitting the surface of the water,
sinking into it,
joining those who’ve gone fearlessly into the future
and the past
in one final moment.
Some people just ask too many questions,
it’s like their nerves kick into overdrive
and they begin to project a desire to know
all the things
they’ve never actually cared about before.
I can see it in the way their eyes dance
like pupils jumping through hoops
out into the great unknown
where only the last one listening
can become the sole survivor
in a world where opinions
are used as swords rather than shields
and the only standards we have
applied to other people.
Sometimes I just can’t wait to be alone
where I can give myself that feeling
of having nothing around me
and no one to interrupt my silence.
I’m not built like most
I have no need for interaction
and for me
isolation is my only medication,
taken only when I feel sick
where every once in a while
being the only one around
is all I need
to step back into the crowd.
It’s like an overlapping secret,
something designed to collect suspense
in the hearts of the wasted minds
who will always fear
the spotlight that will eat them alive
and spit back only
a shadow on the wall.
I can taste it in her mouth,
the stale cigarettes and dry beer
collected over an entire night
where we raced each other
to the bottoms of our glasses
and left the rest of the night
to compare tattoos
and body parts.
Since I don’t taste it often enough
I tend to smother myself with fresh air,
losing my taste for concrete in the trees
where grass and moss seem to overlap
and the dying wish I have right now
is to never
have to go back home.
My oldest shoes now look like sandals,
worn down to the laces
where my socks can be seen
and the arches of my feet
get to feel the pavement
with every hard pounding step.
I’ve just never had much time for new things
and the collection of used clothes
lets me feel at home right away.
I’ve never needed to wear something enough to wear it well,
or wait for it to fade,
there is only this short moment
when these articles are mine
lost on my own skin
until they fray to the point
that I might as well be naked.
There aren’t enough people
for this all to go around,
there’s just what’s left
after powerful fingers
make the last important decision
and everyone else’s dreams
keep them too out of touch to fight back.
All we seem to want
more of everything
even if it’s nothing
and we stand in line
for the chance to pay interest,
interest only in what might make us feel good,
dying for a chance
to show a smile that isn’t forced
when our neighbors houses
now crawl so close to ours,
forcing us to see
how happy they all seem to be.