innocence

from bleached white sheets, the answers are found in my glove box

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

slapping silly the sinister grin of a thin man wearing a stubbly faced chin

if he knocks three times i may let him in

that’s you, i remember, casting sin

hooks layered and stinking of gin

those bubbly brained bonobos chasing a fin through fresh water

where do the lies begin?

or ignorance

they rinsed their mouths

hands kept dirty

red

connected to the obvious

i tried to wake him up

to admit more guilt

he kept digging

a sewer drain coffin was being built

dimensions only he could fit

let him situate himself

shifting

rubbing polyester against pine

splinters find their way underneath dirty nails

close the container

wave goodbye

he wasn’t well kempt

unwilling to accept

fate finds a way

of placing the winning bet

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 a stool, hours early

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i’m the drone picking up the phone, listening to thoughts alone, without a deafening end-of-the-road dial tone

give this dog a bone

i’m going home

to encounter memories with drawn on faces

catching up to residual synthetic traces of time left behind

hit the rewind and scroll

i’m going for a stroll with the one i extol for lending an ear to my pulse rising pedantic platitudes piling up to nesting bird’s homes as they ready to relocate with weather’s winds

shifting

i’m staying here

come on in

i’m alone on my couch

catching up with the contoured creases that comfort me as i stare into this rectangular glow

reaching out

pretending you’re all with me

sit close

let’s make this real

temptation will steal away thoughts that make this deal worth taking

grab me

shake these pebble demons from my troubled mind

help me move on

away from you

solitude

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, cat scratch severe

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

he kept jumping

scratch scratch thwump

scratch scratch thwump

tenacious scratches unnerve my senses causing me to do the one thing i don’t want to

stand up

walk over

and open the door to allow traveling voices to fall down hallways making their way to ears unable to decipher sarcasm and forceful conversations

he scampered to chemical receptacles and liquid filled storage bowls, lapping and looking, ears adjusting to wind pounding echoes on windows suffering a winter storm

we don’t hide

he does

you aren’t sheltered

humans have emotions

we share this

it’s what tethers the strings of differences used to construct facades aiding in the grand effort of divide and conquer

we’ve been taken over

which means

we can take it back

clutch the vestiges of memories drifting gallantly towards another realm where we’ll welcome back the comfort of knowing you’ll see the needs i have to continue raising hands clenched and clasped, breath gasped, and flesh passed

he came back in

curled up on a brown folded blanket

and closed his eyes

i closed the door

and turned the lock

from bed, i’m hungry

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

too tired to relate anymore

i find myself closing the utensil drawer and wishing we never combined our unmatched forks

we still

eat every night

together

you know i use a small spoon for ice cream

a large one for cereal

knives stay put, only used as decoys for visitors wishing they never came to the last house on the left, right and ready for an unarmed theft robbing me of the unforeseen heft of hearts that fill and slowly leak onto plates decorated with mountain peaks and swooping birds, blue on white

a swallowed moon making darkness might

blood drips and pools

suffered a fool

once before

never more

our glasses collect the falling core

a meal for one

i cross my legs

and dig in

from bed, waiting by the phone

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

a formation of words developed from an ancient sequence of symbols used to make sense of utterances that slide out of mouths with a measured degree of certainty all resting on the belief

that we matter

that the individual exists

a pulsating whole, ebbing and flowing through all encompassing envelope folds drowning the highs and lows, drawing us out further, the undertows, eddies swirling us down and back above the rows of chairs that they sit in and judge

ourselves

behind benches and carefully dug trenches while lifting the relevance of robes worn for decorum’s dreams

donning fabric changes who you are, what we believe

so, tare off your masks

dance

howl noise that can’t be recorded

and find new ways to say hello

to the parts of you

making one