emotions

from a stool, i observed a stream and kept seeing the same thing

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

how does it end?

who really wants to know?

it’ll only destroy pathways where we push, pull, and grow

flip to the last page?

no idea why

purpose, a repeated ritual sky

what do we seek while meandering our way to a maintained middle

there is no finale, finally

no diner scenes

no loved characters dying in back alleys

no dimming of lights

saying goodbye

choppers heading east, there’s more pain waiting at home

seems hopeless

nothing to achieve

deal again

more cards up my sleeve

milestones, markers, bar mitzvah, nuts dropping, transformative moments to those who notice

those partaking

those affected

i write without guard rails

i write to tell our tales

i write to disguise us as one another

i write to separate pain in the egg where we developed and begged, to begin again

without an end

this can’t be it

i’m still here

holding onto a number

waiting in line

from a couch, you don’t own the alphabet or our fabric

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

chanting three letters

draped-cloth racism

a lot like our flag

not the one i wave

hijacked mud-flaps

which one?

bars or stripes?

nuts or calvin?

your choices, representative past

you elected to pass, on education

teachers, waited

still do

perspectives lost to echos bouncing from khaki rubbed legs, mythic walls, holy grills, torches, and white skin

freedom, runs contrary to every dim-lit corner of your mind where excuses cast shadows

everyone else?

that’s your defense?

fingers fly out of your hands

“Party of four for Responsibility. Responsibility? Party of four?”

you didn’t come to eat with us, you sat outside, glass-pressed-flat faced

taking a knee

pointing up

it’s a big difference

to you

when someone else looks down

from the same position

winter precipitation falling, you can’t handle the cold, individual geometric beauty scares you to your car

safely wrapped in AM dial voices

inside, we discuss frost, and mending walls, a question befalls us all, how tall?

never mind

it’s already built, metaphorics

you’re keeping yourself out

pounding your head to the resounding, rebounding of three letters you said

strapped to a bed, feeding the thread you used to weave a fabric of lies

disguised

as something we all share

it’s not yours

or mine

zeroes and ones hide you, from me, and me, from you

this isn’t us, a three letter chant, we can all join in, if those three letters, are understood, and i realize

you could have written this about me

from a porch, the answer my friend…

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

your job is to ask tough questions

we’ve been taught not to answer

someone from the other side

breathing in and out cancer

cells multiplying rapidly, empathy paralyzed

perspectives dizzy when i turn my head

stay forward

horse parades

don’t spook the hatred

hoof beats pound forgotten dirt, demanding attention

it’s used up

passion poured out to disposes the drifters who were led without knowing

another path exists

home life excuses

tempting nooses

hanging tree galleries

branches bending, we’re all grafted

one seed

breaking, with the slightest breeze brought across seas, caught in wind pouring from your inquiries, we forgot how to address, critical diseases

critical, we need them

complete your task

i’ll formulate a response, they’ll never know

i tried

from a porch, get in, again

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i leaned with one leg up against wooden nail-riddled boards resting on a metal pole-shed, no one within miles, we just crossed the kansas line, i lit a cigarette and handed one to you

you were crouched, distant, without mind

pulling your hair back

one side at a time

squinted eyes

releasing with a puff, you rise

our song came on

we sang along

“stand here, (k)nowhere we’ve been

wrestling with sorrow that begs us to begin

again

running, finally a purpose

driven, beginnings always alter us

i won’t ever drift this far away again

i won’t tell you it’s you

it’s always me, again

pushing you away

hoping that you’ll stay, again”

we inhaled, looked down, and back up, averting eyes

“caverns of this sorrow i can’t escape

i see you up there…i can’t relate

come rescue me from this ruined fate

creaaaaaaaate

my morning stars…”

our eyes glaze

“…a moon that guides, it’s never near or far, a spiral destined to show us where we are

souls

crashing cars

that intertwine

reasons

we can’t decline

just stand here

let you be mine

again

again

and again”

your face turns to the car

“who’s drivin’?”

from a porch, fingers felt for the first time

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

her fingers felt funny for the first time

sometimes they’d make me laugh

mostly with one extended behind my father’s back

he always thought you were sweet

his word

not mine

i knew how that would twist and be redefined, years of college classes exercised

more so, listening when people speak

this “funny”, a newly-felt-defensive word, unease, an end near

prior, there were long strokes, wrist to unattended biceps, chin to cheek bone, i’d wince, you’re the only one who could invade my space, alone, trying to concentrate on the intention, not the sensation, a grown up tone, not teenage moans

those would come

i’d have to make sure it was you

cat-scratch back, i pretended to nap

you know i never could

this isn’t a longing poem

i’ve written enough of those

what could have been

what will be

will be

your movie ending reminded me of that

que sera

sera

sera

que?

they felt funny because i finally understood, you were connecting without a finality goal, prolonging the pull of unseen forces, no remorses

they felt funny, because i finally felt, how you feel

from a room standing, quick fix, the end is near

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that’s why i do it

to ruin the equation

nothing adds up

unless you’re apt to persuasion

i could convince you, we’ve changed

the drilling in my brain

it’d be a lie

starving reality, death to morality, let’s bludgeon the sky with scared-straight souls whose only goals are to devour enough dollar signs to know they need more

i do it to punish them

it’s that

or us

from a porch, i rewatched our movie on a plane, alone

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i watched it again

that movie we cried exiting fifteen years earlier

without kids

renting space, dodging death

insecure emotions hidden under excited revelations that we’ll choose to be together during early morning parades to regret

those feelings persist, developing, different desires

window dressing our fires of passion for who we become holding hands

comfortable enough to exchange blank spaces of rot we carried in backpacks filled before we met

we unpack

resentment piles grow

the weight is lessened

exposure, it’s surface

we must look

to remember who is who

it’s eternal, the sunshine

my mind, is full

accepting, it’s nothing you stole

we’re in the right spot

change the goal

from my brother’s bed, breaching time zones

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

inhaling the last bits of pleasure

i can’t seem to remember where i placed our memories of mundane moments mixed with afternoon-lunch smiles making this whole thing worthwhile

slowly chewing sandwiches assembled by grandma’s withered hands, mayonnaise soaked white bread, slabs of brand names

what was it?

this “thing”

descriptors dance away as i work to dash and play with the only pieces that will make you stay

jagged puzzle edges, gaps reminding us we’ll never feel comfort

together

my stomach ached

after you left

regurgitate, savor the theft of agonizing daylight that awaits us

from a porch, walk by

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i stepped aside to let you pass

an insecure tempo-flow

too fast, you laugh at my gait

scurried-chop steps

too slow, annoyed, making you late

wandering uneven

an insecure state, where i live

the city, a constant drone of self-doubt

my home, decorated with draining desires to be like everyone else, at ease

or so it seems

on this path from here-to-there, the intersection of opened-eyed nights and self-talk lips, replaying the tone of my voice when i said ‘really’ in surprise to your recent trip, did it drip with the disconnected insincerity i’m afraid it did?

i didn’t mean it that way

i really, meant really, an affirmation of wonder at the way you walk through life without blunder, until the thunder, then you scurry, upended ego, hiding

i emerge to dance in the rain, develop friendship with pain, the grime caught underneath squeaky shopping cart handles makes me sane, knowing i can hurt again

and again

and again

the clouds lift

and you pass by

i shuffle along, after counting to five, a self-aware fuck up, pulling my shirt, chewing sleeves, smoking endlessly, everything to repel you away so i can confirm how shitty of a companion i would be without knowledge of how to simply be, immersed in weather conversations, where you work, my god, pictures of your grandma, a dead dog

i can’t walk beside you

please

don’t look back

from a porch, processed in a dream

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

misty rain pockets, snatched and swirled across mid-afternoon sunbursts, wind welcoming westward expansion with sustenance

refreshment

a reason to pause long enough

observing your half-painted nails nervously being bitten through lips i disguise in daydream-dodges of reality, dropping now to dig through earth-colored spears held up with fertile mixed soil and mud

standing erect around you, bendable gripped by you

able to be destroyed

by you

they’re not pursed, your lips that is, during these moments of momentary mindlessness only i know exist

like they are now

they rest, slightly ajar, an invitation to drop winter’s armor

and take a chance

if only i didn’t have to ask

for you to join me here

refreshed by summer’s surprise

softening our eyes

i now realize

i’m not alone