liar liar pants on fire, wrap me in white and call the warden.

mess. i'm tired of the mess. not the physical. the emotional. somewhere there must be a repellant for the shit that clings to you when you are the most down. close my eyes and dissapear. close my eyes and float away. getting pulled in a thousand directions. directional tears, and blame. directional lies and false promises. directional laser beams of sex and candy swimming in the sun of the hottest summer heat i've ever known in my life. in the cyclone of wasted people, wasted time and wasted things. cut the lines of habit down the middle. waste away and colour me purple like a bruise. there is too much ugly reality in this surreal wasteland. bodies washing up on my shore to my bare and worn out feet. too much drama and hilarity. there are lies and ugliness..i've got to find my way home. home to my crazy home. home to my safeness. home to my happiness. because no one loves anyone but themselves. or thier offsprings. and you come to me with wasted eyeliner smudged eyes and tell me its because of ME that you didn't kill yourself. no one needs to hear that. walk my way in oblivion and drunkeness down your hallway. i'll open the door that is open for me. i don't even knock. welcome to the den of inequity. sit right up and roll one, pop one and melt into the floor. i used to think i knew everything. then these stupid kids came along and ruined everything. too old to question, too old to evolve. if i don't leave soon i'm done for. if i don't pack up and go i'm sure to ruin everything i've worked hard for, and for what? a whole bunch of lies i keep telling myself. that its all going to be ok.

Lists

Pushing it all away
One swift morning plagued with regret and finality.
Wiping off the counters and cutting up the chicken
For dinner
Cracking the bones from the joints
Swiftly as easily as
Methodically pushing away
The people in my life again

Making lists

Pedalling bike hard in the 100 degree morning.
Spokes in motion spreading out the water waves of heat
Sweat trickles down my legs
There is no poetry to the list that grows
In my head
Of those
I won’t talk to again


I’ve lived

2 weeks in complete surrealist structure
Hardwood floors and uneven mattresses
Sleeping in soaking wet hair
And grabbing onto thin air
Where he once slept
Swept up in the love we had once
Now dormant in the moaning air vents
Or up in the tree outside our window

And touch is like paper
And touch is like marble
And touch is like onion skin
And touch is like four corners of your hand
Falling into my body like a stone
To find my pumping heart
And resurrect the rhythm again

I want you to touch me
And until it happens
I won’t be whole
I’ll keep erasing the world around me
One name
One place
One beer
At a time

I’m making lists in my head as you sleep
Of the places we laughed
And the times you touched me tenderly
In the open with no shame
Of the tears I’ve cried in vain
Of the answers that won’t come
The long talk that won’t happen
And all the things that must be done

Packing boxes and moving into sadness
Making lists of everything to come
And somehow by January I’ll know
If you still love me
Somehow I think It will snow and we’ll be clean
And we’ll hold hands and laugh and remember the way
Lovers live

I’m counting on January.
I’m counting on you.
I’m counting on love.
Because I’ve let go of everything and everyone else.
I’ve made my lists
And I’ve let it all go
I made my phonecalls
And I’ve cancelled all my subscriptions
To other people’s faith
And smiles
And welcoming arms..
I’ve set them
Floating on the winds of the prayer flags
Frayed and outwished

I blow my words into asunder
My final blunder
To make it all right again
One last time again
Make it right again.