people who like bad news.

he told me to lie to him.
it's a surprise when someone needs to remind me
and even worse when someone does.
i choke back a tear
and reassure him that i am well.
everything runs smoothly
and just as expected from me
there is no reason to ask for a hug
or an extra kind word at the end of our exchange

instead, i stand atop the mass of rubble
while he gently sips on his tea
a sweet smile leaks from under my matted hair
so that he may chuckle softly.
i don't bother to shout or scream or yell
because i know he'll only get scared
and scamper back under his shell.

i wonder if his mild-mannered life
is just not built to handle anything
that i have the guts to dish out to him.
i wonder if he reminds me to lie
so that i forget all the truth that hurts.
i wonder if the method works,
i obviously don't try it out enough.

i am not built of lies to entertain my guests,
i am a bold shining truth and sometimes it's ugly.
i have bad days too
and i think we all need a sounding board,
not a verbal punching bag
or a human damn it doll,
but a car to rock you to sleep on the ride home
and a gentle hand to pat your back
or give you a little something for free.

isn't it strange when someone
insists they can support you
when all they continue to do is shout "timber"?
he wants me to crash in the forest and not make a sound.


Originally performed on second open mic 2/24/11
Originally written on 10/21/10

celebration

acid and fire and sleet and spit and trees and rain and walks on the beach and heading nowhere and laughter and plantains and feet and numbness and crying and waking up and watching stars travel and coffins and paths and clothing and colors and the word yes and eyes watching and parents and rules and religion and anarchy and simplicity and curry and movies and take out and dumb people and the rate of motion expressed as distance over time and drugs and calico cats and coffee grounds and stories and marshmallows and toothpaste and breezes and orange juice and good morning hello i love you and i'll never forget the look on your face and blooming flowers and listening to something new and trains and dolphins and grammar school and tickling and cold tile and this is just the beginning of all that you know in one moment and this is what surrounds you and this is today tomorrow yesterday and this cannot fade and this is here and this is now and this is you and this is yes and yes is life.


my thoughts are scrambled eggs that i made in a pot with a fork. hope springs eternal. a wish can only come true if you live long enough to forget your expectations.

it starts with a bang.


Originally performed 2/24/11
Originally written on 10/15/08

dream job

there is something so sacred
and tender about the strength
resting across your shoulders
that asks to be crawled upon,
and the broad plain of your chest
that seems so willing to be carved into.

i would like so desperately
to peel back your skin
and suck the juice
straight to your bones.
--to grip the back of your neck
and show you i am just what you're looking for

if we could get past the posturing
and the petty politics
i could make you realize
that when you look at me,
it is your knees that should be weak.
because i have the power to make you tremble,
to make you invite me to wrap myself around your torso
and squeeze into your ribs
until you beg me to never let you go.

no one at work would have to know.




anthony.

Originally performed on open mic 2/17/11
Originally written on 7/23/10

We slept side by side and woke up in a heart shape. My spine curved to accommodate the emptiness you could fill and your forehead arched to reach mine. With our knees touching and our chests sighing, someone watched over us and laughed inwardly. There was a whisper in my ear and I mistook it for an unconditional understanding of where I would always be. If it wasn't a definition left to the dreams that happen in the satellite hour of consciousness, I might not have to look upon that moment with such delicate longing. There was no backward or forward in time---only the complete conglomerate of some essence of one magic fitting perfectly into another, no desperation or wild rallying; just soft, light, content. The happiness of half open eyelids in an unbelievable, unremarkable miracle.

I used to struggle to tell dreams. The struggle to explain with painstakingly accurate detail the occurrences from another realm used to take me all day. with time, I have learned that my dreams were more fascinating to me as I saw them than to anyone trying to paint their own picture with my words. I slowly learned that the message to be found was not within the placement of the walls but the broadness of your shoulders. No, wait, that's not right, it can't be. I learned how to keep dream and sleep separate---where were we? Ah yes, my chronic obsession with talking about my intimate adventures of feathery dreams. So I rode a roller coaster right off the tracks and into the sunset where I found the dragons living in the glory of the blazing sun. (Your breath became the fire in my gut and the sleeplessness in my lungs.)

I was traveling over the snow and ice, over the highway separating us from realities and time. It wasn't a spark that came from your hand as it grazed my cheek but a fresh tenderness. I felt a renewed wordless something and it spread from your fingertips to my depths. There was an unimaginably large grin on our faces that started in my eyes and spread to your feet. (Or was it the other way around?) My eyelids wrenched my sight back to the road and then suddenly I was awake. I heard a far away, familiar voice scolding you and I wiggled my toes remembering the sensation of your touch without any contact.

Laying in bed and continually recalling the memory you traced into my skin will not bring me closer to any conclusion. I've grown older in such a small amount of time, all I have to do is close my eyes and I could be back there, wherever that may be this time. Now the problem is not that I am scared of tomorrow, but that yesterday and the fantasies beyond dance out of reach and it seems less pertinent to mutter any yearning for them to return. It was never about how far I could go but how long I could keep it.


Originally performed for slam competition 2/10/11
Originally written on 4/2/08