Monthly Archives: September 2013

Movement Strategies

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,
between languages,
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.


Lifetime

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.


Projected Standards

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

seem only

applied to other people.


Me Time

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.


Real Reasons

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.


The Dirt

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.


Through the trees

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.


Used Clothes

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.


They Say

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

is more

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.


The Give Away

These lines in my skin

interrupt the way I smile,

they act like cuts that don’t bleed

just curl

with every emotion imaginable

and when the words spill out

all my truth is still found

in the different ways I laugh.