from a porch, i can’t help myself

waiting

pounding veins make tense my head wondering about the deeds of the undead and feeding the parts of me kept secret aside from slips in stories entertaining you when i can’t help myself, i have to share the tales of accidental youth stabbings in a seventh grade classrooms with reading rugs, where i first learned i liked looking up skirts and reading about drug addled football players with initial names and grimaces that make a pubescent boy snarl back waiting for someone to look my way with the wrong expression. ms. p. was her name, with aqua blue cotton panties bulging with a pad a few days out of the month, i thought she knew i was looking. i didn’t get the implications, frontal lobe still developing and deciding which hand i should use while gripping half grown appendages alone in a poster dressed bedroom where all wonderings cascaded before falling asleep to the hum of cds and fm radio. “jane says, i’m goin’ away to spain”, i want to go with her, explore the pavement where foreign voices are home, where i can’t breathe ecstasy air, your dim lit streets force me to remember my way to you, it’s where we started, in stinky sand pits clutching for life through mud puddle remains of those who walked the earth without having to maintain the natural flow of carbon inhaling carbon

from a porch, plastic boats

drawing plastic boats with water color paints on paper meant for your goodbye letter

it’ll only mean we’re better

i set it on the kitchen counter, leftover dinner and half-washed dishes

letting go

of complete control

a shallow bowl, filled with forgotten goals

knowing soon, we’ll split our souls

sailing off, to separate-corner roles

falling into, shallow holes

tunnels dug, by emotions moles

we’ve lost our way

will we find it tomorrow?

worn out maps

we’ll borrow

to sail back

to still-water coves

to pictures i drew

when we knew

it was real

that boat on paper

came to life

i love you

came to life

from a porch, the answer my friend…

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, rain is coming

grafted personalities with wind-blown hairdos did the desert dance in sand filled bedrooms while clutching arid histories against milk depleted breasts

hope crumbled as swirling dirt devils divided what happened

with

what was wished for

we can’t taste the innocence of a sour dairy kiss anymore, without wondering which farm you wandered away from

developing a future, progeny

will cease

birds will fly

dogs will bark

worms will weasel through holes, no longer visiting the sea

we came together, for destruction

brought together, so they could continue on

from a midwestern bed, sleep deprived and still acting

you have an audience

take a bow

glide through the curtains

a trail of movement as the lights go up

applause only lasts as long as the illusion that you’ll give more

it doesn’t follow, fate fades

dimensions, one sided

apprehension we confide in

i stood before a crowd once, lost my voice and fell from the cloud composed of possibilities that you’d accept me

i couldn’t compare myself

you were worried, self aware, self-centered, bathing in the echo hitting hands

forgetting i need you

rather, i become you, destroy me

i won’t last

let’s get off this stage

that was the final act

from a couch, back in pocket

i packed the information deep in the crease of a car seat waiting for him to return from his midnight run to the south-side of town where whispers were captured and drowned in the effervescent moon glow

building intensity until climax and i should change my shorts before i return unless you can convince them the squirm in my heels and kicks of my legs are due to an innocent grabbing of my sinister stick plucked and peeled from the family tree i fell out of two weeks before the beginning of jail night stays

i commit the crime, and they saw it that way, wishing wicked thoughts would welcome whatever it is you drink before toxic conversations turn to fists breaking flesh and “i hate you’s” that are healed by mornings aching eyes, rolling over and smelling thighs until you realize it’s the thought of disappointment you dispose of in accidental dumpster fires where once and again, forever, and never will my rod bend when i capture a glimpse of your stagnant water wishing it had taken a left instead of a right down the middle, play it safe bullshit life without a fight to call me to help during hellfire deliveries, packages banged and rearranged wondering which doorstep you live behind

i knew waiting for you would spin into this

the information is there

deep in your seat

take a look

from bed, i see, and hate, him

distraction static pouring from mouths

too drunk, too tired, too far from the south

tread light, dinner is served

it’s saturday night, come hear the good word

paper exchange in light of day

leads to paper exchange under the grey…clouds moving and stretching thin across the sky, accidentally allowing us to see heaven; the sun

on earth, above

we’ve certainly done a number below, gas fuels flow, pushing our smoke stacks out of sight, money made on pretending you’re right

thankfully, ocean depths live alone

drones, internally combust

but, it’s saturday night

‘who needs that stuff, i have had enough’

say the pock-faced-aged-ignorant assholes who own this street, in closets with tie racks, kids need to know what to buy on dangerous holidays, right?

excuse his persona shift, blowing steam?, safe jumping from fuck-up faith cliffs, he’ll find their bed

not before letting the streets know he came, it’s his window to lean in, she sleeps on blue pills, the children’s eyes dizzy themselves to coma with rectangles and orange dust fingers

he guzzles, wanders, ‘i don’t weave, you move outta my way’, ripped yellow-shirt slobs, like him, say before his inflated eyes drive down her blouse

cleaned up in the day, presentable

kitchen table confidence

sleeping only after a drink of numb juice and arguments with his favorite facebook profile pic

it’s where he likes to stick, people with mirror faces, beach sand embraces, making all the power he has pounding sidewalks more noticeable

disgusting disgrace of a well dressed dickhead thinking he can dance because he heard these 90s tunes come from his gay brothers bedroom, the one he never calls

he’ll make it home

sleeping in his underwear, she’ll pick up his clothes in the morning

the kids think it’s his coffee needs

it’s bandages, covering where he bleeds

eyes wrapped in goose-step bandanas

a self-created world vision, leading to distracted-distorted static pouring from his mouth, into nothing

that’s being threatened

and he has resources

he’ll use

not before

another round