...not a poem, a complaint...

Last night, at around 2am,

August 5th,

I had five great quatrains

sitting on my screen,

not intended to be a blog or anything,

more intended for a crafted poem

and they were really good             you know,

when you push the chair back from 

the desk and go "How the fuck did I do that?"

and then 

I hit something. 

And then I lost it.

And then I searched for it for the next hour.

And I could not find it. And now, I am really

pissed about this. You would be too if you 

saw them. 

(needed to get that out there...)

...housecleaning...

this 

vacuum 

sucks (...)

(good

this place

is filthy)

(...)

...coin star...

when do you panic

when  the money runs out

           the water runs dry

          the damn nearly bursts

           the lump in your throat

doesn't fill me 

with confidence

...pant...

it is hot as fuck

and you wear pants

because you are a hipster

and complain about it

like we should care

(Satomi, you are the smartest

woman in indie rock)

...three dog night...

no

I will not sing Joy

to the World

or talk of a bullfrog

but the dog's barking

at the car door slams

and the scurrying howl

that translates to

"where are you?!?!?!"

forces me to keep them

assured that it will

be a short short night

and a long long weekend

(for Shea, Buddy, and Chester)

...range of motion...

want to experience 

sadness and happiness

all at once?

Tell someone

who doesn't love you

anymore to have

a happy birthday

and really mean it

while watching 

Tim, Eric, and Zach

advertise for Absolut

and you'll cry

and you won't know

exactly why

that is

...blue sky bitter...

inland

the shore birds find

unfamiliar ground

and greet it without

hesitation because

the seasons have shifted

like the taste

and acidity of the air

forced by our hand

...take me to the river...

in a blink

you came and went

back on your infamous

stroll through the trail

and frolic on the Delaware

when the sounds of things

natural beckons the toads

and creatures splashing

two more animals

on the path and in the camp

two more animals

feeling at home

in the shade

of the raised nook

above the river

that I took you to

and that you take

with me

..co-dependence day...

the nation celebrates

independence and I sit here

in the dark loathing it

(mine, not the nation's)

realizing how desperate

the situation has become

and just how dependent

upon you I am 

(once again, not the nation)

...wishing it away...

got to go to

the store to buy more

ham even though

you don't eat ham

but crave it like god

damn chocolate 

and you redirect

your energies to avoid

feeling the guilt

that I know you feel

and can see you 

in my head

wishing it away

...broke...

feel broken

feel nothing really

substantial

to provide

a coin a phrase

or a button

to put on your

shirt that I'd sell

but the words

here are not 

the words

there or the words

that they want

to buy

...lips ink..

similar to singing

she mimes the words

to the song

getting them 

all wrong

and knowing

that I'm watching

she laughs away

the blank lyrics

to avoid blushing

...ringtone...

no phone

no phone

I just want to be alone

today

(that is such bullshit)

...sad but truth...

in the dream I had

in Plattsburgh back in 1996, 

George Carlin appeared as a god, 

said that all I needed to be happy

was this honesty that most

mortals are afraid of

and that the fears that I had

up to that point

would no longer be

and he was right

(thank you, George)

...all for not...

jumping the gate

and dashing for the aisle 

I got free for a moment

lost it regained it

and lost it again

(damn security)

...one of one...

how many times

have we written about phone calls

or lines that didn't connect

like the ones in this poem

or the ones in the conversations

I have with myself

that are recorded 

on my friend's machines

This is the vacancy

that is lurking

when you don't want it to

this is the consumption

of thought 

the rumble of the stomach

when one's solitude

becomes their worst allergen

...tripping over the metaphorical shoelace...

in the whole place

nothing can beam forward

or jolt out of place

safe and secure

like the arms 

of the lover

or the assuredness

of the knot

tied tightly

...like a kid in a 128 mile per hour rocket...

the g-forces here 

are measured 

as "gee" forces

and the pure thrill

of a kid learning

how quickly one can 

overcome one's fears

you don't get a chance

to be scared when the ride

lasts a few seconds

(to the kid in the green t-shirt that was scared shitless

to ride Kingda Ka rollercoaster but came back

with a huge shit-eatin' grin on his face) 

...mid-state...

the power came back

at 2:45 in the morning

but I was already

dreaming that it

had been on for longer

...this heat...

it was so hot

that I thought you would melt

your tiny tiny figure

melting like a figurine

on the pool deck

but luckily 

we kept our cool

and composed figures

in the water trails

with our fingers

on the side of the pool

that would vanish 

quicker than sand 

paintings in wind