from a chair, facing east

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i flipped you over

the frail fortunes you forgot to protect broke in fanciful little pieces and spread across the floor

i enjoyed watching them spread

mercury thermometers dropped from school scared children’s sucking mouths causing silver ball bounce suffers nothing compared to your display of degraded dances vanishing across dining room floors

i smile

cross legged sitting and staring at your entire sacrifice spilling on marble and granite

or is it concrete?

it’ll all be considered tacky someday

your vulgar view of thick magazine photos sent to high priced zip codes

exclusively i watch you linger in dim halls stalling for the right word to describe your molding

children watch waiting anticipating the direction they should fold their hands, does the head go down

bobbing like yours for new wood floors that match my memory of farmhouse’s that used to serve a purpose

i harbor some resentments

more contempt

for counterfeit measures and window dressing feathers falling from you as you parade like a puppet pulled by abstract concepts created to control

i shouldn’t care

why am i riled by your reviled rhetoric?

that’s the question

i do want an answer

it’s that you affect the whole

we all need a push and pull up-and-down this vacuous poll not another poll to show us the polarization of people working to provide pretenses for the next generation

maybe it’s that splatter you left behind oozing out, an amoebic matter membrane without defined borders merging and emerging recognizing it’s all concocted

i should have left you on your back

from bed, the plate is loaded

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

the line between love and unkind voices

voices that shake at a moments notice hoping we will go away during their midday walks to the food truck, ungratefully George Jeffrsoning it to the window hoping it’ll shake down a smile

it doesn’t translate

it wasn’t even close

he tries again assuming trips to Mexico count as language emersion experiences ordering tacos with american cheese

assuming

unseen eye rolls

he wraps it up and flip back his tie

you can do it in reverse order

the dramatic tie bit

or, is that later tonight

he gives the eye to a flipped gender he thinks he engendered while discussing the ‘nectar of the gods’ (his words to be sure) he’ll be gurgling with four other bloated fucks who look like him

unscrewing little black caps and discussing states and years

your status is clear and clearly defines the time you think your curfew is while you leave behind that high school sweetheart story you smile through after your first morning coffee to show you have enough sugar to kill the economy of both countries and reconcile erased travel trip nights ‘networking’

the caps piled up

your lease on life and luxury car allows you to make it home without a question from that swerve on your phone

you

you stumble in lingering with that last stop complaining she is acting like a cop while self serving yourself in the mirror through shaken and stirred lenses

she’s crying

you think it’s irrational

go to sleep

and stay there

from bed, wrapped in a towel waiting

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

cancer crushed the cornerstore front where i was soft selling my wares to those who would stop long enough to understand the value of worlds that would emerge from words they heard dripping with hyped to high-heaven hyperbolic terms, a pitch to catch every dime store dip-shit who couldn’t discern between integrity and the incessant need to flatter ourselves in the dark imagining that she would actually come home with us

or him home with me

you home with he

we don’t come home

i wasn’t so disillusioned

understanding fever pitch i walked away before the switch would kill the last necessary need to continue to feed the balancing half of this distraction

it was destruction

disappointed that you kept defending their right to feed at the same trough as the ones who gave you this cloth, stained with the way you trained them to listen when nobody else would come

a disease

innocuously took the heat for you

the lie for him

the life from them

why did you tell me you were born in July

I was at that store

when your mom, on your birthday, left you in the falling snow

from a stump, the rocks are piled high

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

capture the captains and make sure they can’t escape

where are they anyway?

the captains

oh, you thought there was only one who looked over what’s not captured by the sun

surprises left by ancient sign stealers who whisked away their peoples last complaints and walked on with a single saint

yet a sinner to each one helps balance this act

the third of five

we’ve risen now we rise in climatic predictability to gain invincibility and walk right through the power you create when there is nothing left to equate my fate left on a pile of sticks next to his burning bush

the sticks survived

while you contrived a fable to explain all the bread on your table as most are unable to find a stable

to sleep in

wickedness we’re steeped in

dreams we’re seeked in

the din

of sin

greets me again

i was looking for them

those captains

i’m not sure they escaped

i just wasn’t sure where to find them

from bed, a letter

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

Hi –

Thank you to all followers and those who stop-by to check out “my morning stream”. If you haven’t read the “about” tab, please do, it shares the process and project behind this blog.

In total, I’ll be looking at two years of streaming, editing, sharing, worrying, forgetting, fretting in self-conscious fits, and otherwise being a writer who feels as though they have something to share.

Delayed gratification, wrapping my head around insecurity, and understanding process are the underlying personal challenges i expose while undertaking this endeavor.

Themes that come out of my writing? Those are many and varying.

I rushed around a lot, still do some, though I’m coming to terms with my skin and abilities of what I am and who I share – what we have is one another. Not always peaceful, not always at war, and sometimes just being; yet together as we push and pull to create something greater than what came before.

By profession, and otherwise, i’m a teacher. i believe in the pursuit of being uncomfortable, taking risks, and sharing what we have to offer to continue sewing the infinite thread that passes through the tapestry of human history, as to not lose the fundamental pieces of who we are as beings.

Who are we?

People who desire love and community, people who are destined to experience loss and humility. One beat with billions of faces finding ways to contemplate and share experiences that bind us.

Thank you, again, for your support. Some days I’m embarrassed by what I publish, others proud, and sometimes I feel like I don’t know the person who wrote the words you see.

Surprise and mystery, of ourselves and one another, are reason enough to rise in the morning.

I look forward to conversation and visiting the worlds you create.

Thank you,

Andy

from a stool, morning is becoming night

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i slumped

when i saw the satisfaction you took in skipping ahead of the sunrise

a surprise

it was ours

the glow

coming up, casting shadows with caution while carefully creating cascading columns, shafts of light to shelter the catatonic owls who squint themselves to sleep

you didn’t want to be there

alone and unaware of the depth my breath would have to travel in an effort to calm my loss

the losing of someone who celebrated our awakening

you see,

i need you

and it’s a lie they feed you that we’re suppose to find this thing by ourselves

that somehow strength is found in stretching our arms and eyes without you to spy so i can surpass the butterflies that crawl and flutter through bellyaching nights to an understanding of this thing

this life

this temptation to answer the question we’re born with

the exercise of pushing limits in search of hoping, accidentally, without hurting

we can find the truth

come back

from a bench, late and unfinished – but here

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

catch me slipping through the cantankerous nights when i stray too far from the regulations we regard

senses slip off our tongues and join in a magnetic hum of where we can drift in times of torture tangled webs and butcher knife forgetfulness

i remember the way you taste

the echo of your heels hitting the hardwood floor we toiled to step upon when heralding a different saint would have been easier

i can’t escape the memory of how your breath, with the day’s work, walked into my space and brought comfort

your choice of dressing dancing before your lips had time to meet mine

a candlelit denial of moments we couldn’t be anywhere else.

from bed, clouds are clearing

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

catapult yourself over the wall

now duck down

close your eyes

caution will slip away

look up

the peak is covered in displays of light-hearted remorse drifting by as another scene unfolds

did we forget our lines

i hope so

let’s improvise interactions that have fallen to rehearsed reactions captured by a narrator who taunts us with mundane fractions of our day lost in painfully predictable and particular fashion causing greater factions in the mental boxes we open and close with emotional roles defined by effect and cause poles that leave us both

lonely

gasping for breath

i could do anything

i can

i can stand where i once sat and forget what i once thought while dancing where my feet grew firmly to the floor

we have chances to break free once more through a sliver in the door

a sliver in my pore, stuck painfully deep no tweezers long reach can free me from carrying this piece of trying

we must

breach the gates where chain links now lock us away

push

now, push

push

stop

locks need to be opened not forced to disclose the truth of our course that lives on this side of the wall

open your eyes

we’re there

from the same fold out bed, heading home

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

step inside

where a swirling mass of geniuses once resided

where conversations began and our hearts continued

blink

now we’re trained by whistles in times of dismissal, we forgot to notice the sun was setting hours earlier as buildings got taller and bridges crumbled

there’s no way out

hurried remarks cast aspersions on the page where once consideration had a role to play we belly up and hit send threatened to upend the way we look at another weekend

where’s pollyanna when you need her

my glasses are frosty and fogged if she could take the wheel and begin to peel the reform of repeal replace my meal reseal the deal of this slimy feel to get a meal without the ordeal of carry and conceal

i know what’s in your pocket and i’m never happy to see you

let’s refine this conversation to include condensation that forms in layers above us and brings down life

Bob would ask if you could deny it*

try to untie it

the riddle

i’m waiting for the fiddle while buildings spontaneously combust and ashes fly filling coffins with dust

no one is there to carry them

just piles of us

on top of us

on top of more us

finally getting along in the breeze

*Bob Dylan song “Visions of Johanna” reference

from a fold out bed, loud breathing

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

your lies kept us together

disorganized thoughts ordered into chaos as i wonder, while the answer waits

i’ve basked in synonymous questions for a dense decade decorated in more dancing than dread

but

they keep coming up

the questions

a mark

i emphasize key words hoping to bend your ears into your heart for a reality to create a fresh start

your bafflement and approach are beyond reproach as a new spin catches up to my doubt within this empire of frustration that you love

minute to minute

facts left through the back door, carrying the means in a worn out brief case

i see an end

it’s because of the means and they don’t justify a thing

relationships don’t have a blue finish line ribbon to rip

nothing to cross

just the one over my shoulder

and i don’t believe it’s there

i do know what’s in that box stored deep in the recess of her minds mind minding your business which is carrying suitcases with starched men who drink double scotches and order them like every asshole orders a double scotch

on the rocks

i’m getting lost as you’re forgetting you tossed two mop heads and loyalty to a cost benefit that’s your analysis

did you win?

i can’t say it was anything more than a tie as this goodbye suffers in with a favorite lie

the one we told when i played with the fold of white hand sweat paper

i didn’t need to look

i remembered and rehearsed those words

not needing to bow, it wasn’t a show

maybe i’m tethered to a web of my past masking itself in the way you bask in everyone’s sunlight while guiding relationships by moonlight

maybe it’s your patience that keeps us together

maybe