poem

from bed, i’ll be your waiting room

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

grab ahold of something more secure than me

lift yourself up and push beyond this pale blond destroyer dream

some things you can’t fix

as the clock ticks

and you can’t afford to waste any more reasons, or time

i’ll be fine, knowing who i am

you’re not the first

i’m a waiting room

uncomfortable and not maintained

inconsolable, temporary, fake fixtures and emotions feigned

a conduit

getting people from there to here and here to there, a rebound echo pulsating through muddy water thoughts in a washed out consciousness

that’s where i’m caught

i chose this

you

it’s an excuse

a position where i’m in control

get out? ha, then i’d have to think, deliver, expose, and shiver in sudden loses of uncontrollable impulses with lovers leaving for what would be another me if i were not he

it’s the easy way out

serving a single purpose

on second thought, come stay awhile

someday you’ll surface

and forget we ever met

from a chair, inhaling the last of your stare

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

drenched in her tears i stepped into the hallway shared by all the other fourth floor door dwellers stinking of fried chicken, body fetor, and incense

none of which were winning the odor war, an amalgamation of whiffs running wildly through our rooms

all but tuna

tuna sat in the corner waiting for the stench to reach its threshold

then, without hesitation, he’d zoom center stage through draft ways and air vents

nobody welcomed him

he wafted alone through bed sheets and hanging drapes, living in garbage bin tossed tin can creases

festering in mouth corners

absorbed in crumbly crusts left on plates for tomorrow’s cleaning

blasting our senses, giving way to other impressions

biding time

for the next unleashing

resting on your breathe

before the door shut, i turned around and took my final look

sorry for the last time

if i could click my heels i’d be back with her

the her before her, that’s right before you

for years i penetrated the aura swirling around

thinking i could make a new sound pound from the ground you stood on and around

i’ve learned

nothing’s wasted

if we walk away with something

it’s my turn

i’ll dry my shoulders

lift off your weight

make my way down the hall

it’s never too late

to inhale the sweet smell of something new

from a couch, home needs no explanation – the rest does

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

they ruined the peace sign

fingers used to pulsate potential when topsy-turvy times were captured by flash bulbs and plastered on newspapers and life magazine

it died with ‘deuces’

two fingers and a pouty face

signaling their leaving

they already left

or, we didn’t ask them to stay

never explained our common language, shared the significance of our actions

left alone

to figure it out

they’re their own journalists chronically what happens when norms and celebrations, culture and deliberation, past-times and bed-side manners are disregarded

the them are us

previously placed weight on symbols, cultural mores, and rites was bid a goodnight when without wings and mating flight we fight with duck faces

saying good luck as we ‘peace out’

peace is within

without, we are locked screens

no memory of four digit codes and your face won’t be recognized by the past and i can only hope the future doesn’t look like you, like this

it does, it’s now

i’m getting old

reflective

one thing i do know, i don’t want the past

romance is lost

it starts with a conversation

photos held

relevance, reverence and importance placed on people and places who genuinely display who we are

what are we?

stuck

where two fingers hold the key

we can use it together

let me tell you how

from a hotel bed, the privilege to consider prestige

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

leave

thoughts take up daylight clouding my vision and fading the only thing i have to hold onto

but she is lying

i know that

perfectly packaged material arrives everyday strategically shared to paint a picture.

i’m the emotional artist

get out of my studio and save the sales pitch for the finger fuck suit down the hall who sips steady shots of alcohol (he knows them all) and i can’t twist anymore with these images of time left open and the draft that came through only kept me in the know of what travesties you were trying to take back from the waking world reality we all live in

those were my words

the ones you carefully jotted in a notebook for everyone to see

those were my words

the ones i flung out before considering drenched in a tear filled raw exchange of exactly how i was feeling

i feel

you think

throw the fucking last years in with the kitchen sink

here it all comes

how do i get your attention to see the world isn’t planned and pleated, written and deleted

before presentation

my walk is my pitch

i will never switch to save my own face

i could care less what i look like

honesty is ugly

the roots dig deeper and i become immovable

there’s a breeze

i sway

you break

good bye

a porch, horrible music surrounds me

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i hate the night

you all change

i get tired

eyes blur, words slur, everything is totally fucking ‘like for sure’

i don’t want to listen to your drivel

wasted words

pushing everything backwards

i used to be that way

wrapped in insecurity’s goggle lenses

now i’m fucking bitter

especially because she wants me to be you

for a time

what does that say?

this stupid rhyme

meters forced

it’s all i have

the option is there

despair

my weakness would give you a partner

i have to dance alone

they think it’s negativity

angsty creativity

the flow of emotions

pouring from untapped sources

i can’t apologize

for your lack of understanding

i’ll sit alone and wrestle the tone

wishing i could destroy the drone

of my thoughts

i can’t win

from bed, tied up and twisted

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i hope you’re well

starts most greetings i type

words that i spell

fastened to the intention that i wish i didn’t have to wish anymore

that you weren’t splayed out on gummy bathroom tile floors

wishing for the door to stay locked as you drift away

a wish your forefingers bought, caught, and forgot with bulging eyes between ill-willed hand shakes dancing with short black skirts

eyes alert

surprises divert my attention to your smiling arms

wrapped tightly

i watch from afar

you swing away

finding stones to kick down alleys where you’ll lay

i write you notes

quick sidestep quotes

from our shared sunday morning’s sipping tea with clarity when your stumbling words brought hilarity

and i didn’t have to wish

you were there

you

were

there

from the porch, first crack at a stream-song

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

it wasn’t long ago

i threw rocks in the corner

thought we’d never lose her

and then she left

i can’t whisper anymore

my thoughts a full-throated roar

silent no more

what for?

now i bounce around

drowning in the sound

of what’s lost when more is found

it’s you we miss

can we make this right?

winter walks in glowing night

searching for the might

to keep moving

i fight

we stand

a master without a plan

she walks

on gilded dreams

alone in everything

we left

she saw

what’s mine

it’s clear

you’re gone

sing

sing with me

of a sea baring nothing left to hide

stand

stand and fight

against every misguided gun shot shredding everything in sight

i can’t look away

come back

we can’t delay

come back

it’s now you say

come back

come back

come back

from bed, dedicated dining rooms are boring

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

when do we get privacy?

communications where we have control

really, it’s inviting isolation rather than gaining clandestine adventures

a complete lack of being alone with our thoughts, writing and contemplating without the fear of judgement cast by those we keep away from when dungeon doors are closing

i gather my understandings and undress foretold scenes

dancing in rhythmic movements

waiting for a turn to share our self-reflection with the moon

she’s full of regrets

lighting the sky with our lost bets

seclusion

locked in chat room vaults, a text message waltz, typed to friends with whom we keep jokes on the inside

laughing at those who free-ride reside in rooms where we cried

alcoves of infinite sequences

zeroes and ones

echoes

i want you to navigate this alone

are you ready?

to synthesize information

understand false relation

virgin exposure without our steady-head-nod composure to ‘okay’ your decisions

i trust you

ready?

from bed, battle drums

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

stranded somewhere between east and west lines that divide a world only spinning for our comfort

every night she positions herself in a bed designed for two where the fate of another shrew is tamed and told where to whistle contrary tunes that pound through puckered lips parading past arm powered ships setting sail to island fantasies waiting in polluted oceans for us to conquer, or douse in gasoline and set fire

leaving constant reminders of human desires to contemplate death while passing through moon phases predicting the flow of life-stopping blood

bustling between scars left by the constant consideration that somewhere, something, somehow is better than the ticking clock we throw back and forth now bowing to unrequited lovers leaving for another zone to practice their polite panting exercises

let’s stop with the please and thank you’s

and understand

head nods and need are enough

stranded implies i can’t leave

there’s a way out

you

from bed, i did it. now go.

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

try telling me it’s not time to go

i nervously got up and shook hands

quickly glancing into eyes

fist raised

pump

i left

synapses firing

fast flying fury flinging manufactured memories of cities we left lingering as ghosts gathered by alleyway dumpsters waiting for us to walk by

to jump in our path

forcing an about face

we left that place

i kept coming back

never cutting the slack that left me grounded to imagined situations

i can’t shake them out

cancer doubt

remission never came

you wanted me to leave