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

Ghost in the Doorway

I had this dream where you were a large skeleton. You still had organs and a face, but I only saw your bones. Just like the world still had grass and trees but the only thing that mattered was the moon. Perhaps it was too dim to notice anything other than stark white or maybe that is all that needed to be paid attention to. It was more a matter of what was happening than any of these surface details.

You walked with me, like any skeleton would, and we didn't say a word for a very long time. Finally when words came, it was music and images. Light dancing across fields in places we had never been, wind traveling in trees we wanted to climb. I do not remember where we were, but that we weren't going anywhere special. What we would find did not surprise us, but reached into us and fed us life. I couldn't hear anything but your bleached thoughts and I don't remember how I looked. Perhaps I was just as naked as you were. I only know that when we touched it was like fire and when you held me there was nothing but the heat from the furnace inside your chest.

It will be a long winter if I don't see you again.


Originally performed 10/21/10
Originally written on 10/7/08

Dawn.

Quick note: the following is an unedited prose piece I started on a little while ago. I would like to work with it a bit more, but I feel I just need it to be looked at by another pair of eyes. Let me know what you think. (Likes, dislikes, changes, elaborations, etc.)

I woke up and stretched. My fists reached toward the ceiling and I let out a yawn that made lions a little worried. This morning felt different from the previous ones. I didn't linger under the covers imagining you were holding me in your arms. I pushed my feet to the floor and didn't check the pillow for where your head might have been. I wiped the sleep from my eyelids and not once did my blink lengthen to welcome a thought of your presence.
Something felt loose, but not out of place. In fact, something felt like it had finally been put back, returned to its rightful owner. I waltzed into bathroom, lighter than when I had gone to sleep somehow. "What was it?" I blandly thought to myself. Whatever it was that wasn't there, it had taken the pit from my stomach with it.
I thought about nothing and my body understood that I needed to get to work at a certain time. In my mind, I sat back and relaxed in an open field of tall grass. I squinted at the sun until noon. I got up and chased the squirrels and the butterflies and the pollen in the air. In my imaginary world, I was just me and having the fun that I wanted to have.
I get home and sit down. I wonder what's missing as though my life were a children's puzzle. I ask myself, "What used to be here that isn't anymore?" But really, the answer always comes in the form of another question: "What was there before that was replaced by what is now missing?"
I come to see that I live in a series of replacements. And that when I lost one central part of my life, another came to take it's place. So when I lost my sanity, I found you. And when you left, I found a void filled with endless sadness and pain and suffering. And suddenly, today, that void has finally been replaced with life again; a forest of life grown over the smoldering ruins of a dark fantasy world. I'll admit, I still remember why that hole was made, but I think it even more amazing and awesome that the patch has grown so full in one night.
I anticipate what else I get to weave into this great pattern of waking fresh and new at the end.

Stereo in the Kitchen

it is when you begin to apologize that you know you may be in trouble...

"Ennui unbridled, let's talk to kill the time.
How many styles did you cycle through before you were mine?
And it's been a while since we went wild and that's all fine,
But we're sleepwalking through this trial,
And it's really a crime...it's really criminal"

Everything was awash in orange
and our mouths were filled with grins.
The table would morph into a new mess each night
and the furniture would tumble down the stairs.
We could walk into each other's houses,
drink a glass of water and keep walking.
The sky protected us when we played basketball in the dark
and candy on our tongues could melt anything away.

Long drives and drunken lost living rooms,
dark hallways and loud basements filled with sleeping people,
a television kissing you goodnight
and a kitchen sink to wake you in the morning.

To name the things that changed you
is to remember who you are
and if it's the difference between
the hole in my diary or the clippings of my soul,
I'll carve something righteous out
just to tell these stories again.

Some love stories were never meant to be sold to Hollywood.
Or to last.



Note: This is a summary of the events of last fall and the feelings that went with it. I lost a job and a friend last December, neither of which would want me back. The love story is not of romance in this situation but an idealized adoration for a group that was family. I had previously referenced death before things began to fall apart not thinking I could lose this.
In short---last October was a lot of fun and I'll really miss it.


Originally written on 10/20/09

Still Life

An edit of this. Feedback is thoroughly encouraged. Criticism extremely welcome.

Eons have passed since we walked through that green maze to bronze fields.
Yet I have visited our park so many times in my thoughts,
with the heaviness of death hiding so close to my heart,
it would seem as though it was only yesterday since we were walking side by side.

With open eyes and bare feet,
the music of the air spilled into our ears
and we swayed like stalks of wheat.

Under the blue autumn sky,
I can still hear all of the words you ever spoke
echoing through the blades of grass.

We were not silent then;
we were not patient
and there was no need to be, either.
Our souls touched and grew inside one another.

I can only dig down so far
to find where there is a difference between us.
It would not matter if you lived in any other place,
if I could not see you with my eyes.
We were born to meet each other and live to learn.
(Perhaps if we had never met I may have died?
What about you?)

If my legs could carry me,
I would run.
If you could open your mouth,
you would conduct symphonies.

It was so simple for us.
We were creating worlds by discovering what already existed.
We were flourishing in the void.
We were making peace by not needing one another.

My only fears for you are that fear would get in the way of any life worth living.
That something could paralyze you beyond ever
understanding or experiencing the most necessary affairs.

Waves passed and oceans flew,
time churned and next thing I knew
you were walking away from me.

The crisp air hit my lungs and I decided this wouldn't be when I chased after anyone.
I was tired of walking so far North
that I forgot where the beach lay.
When I was at your place
I never knew which way was home.
I got so comfortable in your bed
I began to dislike my own skin.

Four years ago I might not have known any better,
but four years from now I might say the same thing.

I take a deep breath and plunge in.

---maybe I'll find you after all.

The Only Certainty...

...in this life, is that it will end. Every other concept is up to you to perceive.

It was only yesterday that we walked across bronze fields with open eyes and bare feet. The music of the air spilled into our ears and we swayed like stalks of wheat. Our souls touched and grew inside one another. I can only dig so far down deep to find where there is a difference between us. It would not matter if you lived in any other place, if I could not see you with my eyes. We were born to meet each other and live to learn. My only fears for you are that fear would get in the way of any life we could live.

Yet I have visited our park so many times in my thoughts, with the heaviness of death hiding so close to my heart. Four years ago I might not have known any better, but four years from now I might say the same thing. (Perhaps if we had never met I may have died? What about you?) Even under the blue autumn sky, I can hear all of the words you ever spoke echoing through the grass. We were not silent then, we were not patient and there was no need to be, either. If my legs could carry me, I would run. If you could open your mouth, you would conduct symphonies. It was so simple for us. We were making peace by not needing one another.

Waves passed and oceans flew, time churned and next thing I knew you were walking away from me. The crisp air hit my lungs and I decided this wouldn't be when I chased after anyone. I was tired of walking so far North that I forgot where the beach lay. When I was at your place I never knew which way was home. I got so comfortable in your bed I began to dislike my own skin. I take a deep breath and plunge in---maybe I'll find you after all.

Sick

i wonder how much time of someone's day is really given to really uprooting every single good thing that could be laid down.

i am listening with my entire being and i'm finding that i'm out of practice. i miss the point sometimes, please bear with me. the words won't make you hear what i have, you need your skin for this, your ears, your soul. you need to absorb it all the way that we can.

i was in love with your history. i was in love with your history. my past was in love with your's but i don't know where i stand now. the brink that i am teetering on is showing signs that if i take you with me, it will mean a swift plunge and certain death. but once i let go of this rope that holds us tight to one another in a swirling current, if i just loosen the grip of my bonds to anyone in particular, i will find exactly what i've been searching for. and whatever you see as beautiful or amazing or grand, none of it will effect what i see. rather, none of it will have to effect it. that effect is ugly and cruel.

maybe the nice things are the ones that i need the least. perhaps i wasn't built to simply enjoy, and a lot of scripture points to this. but that really means something a lot different here, i think.

"nothing about us is simple"
(the phrase "i don't want to lose you" is very real and obnoxiously useless.)

Cage

Once the opportunity strikes, you don't want to ask the important questions because you want to hold off on the answer.
That isn't about fear, it's about excitement. And hope.

The Nomad puts on her moccasins and opens the tent door to the rising sun.

A lot of things have strange connotations that lead us to make very strange assumptions. In this society words like, "calm" and "gentle" read as "slow" and "meek". Some people don't fill out stereotypes. Some things are not as bad as they seem.

She steps past the threshold of her makeshift home and stands tall. Today she will journey far and not know what she will see.

There are things we can expect. We know that the Moon will run a cycle in twenty eight days and that it takes nine months for a baby to develop in the womb. We know that it takes nine months for a child to complete a school year and that it takes four years to complete a Bachelor's Degree. I wonder if we've always been so sure.

The morning is kind and the Nomad smiles into the face of the world. The sights that she has seen before do not compare to a present moment nor does the future. She is here and now.

As soon as you are aware of a role that you play, you ruin it. Especially the ones that make you the hero.

The Nomad has met many people. Many that have joined her in travels, others that have been hospitable. All have taught her something and all have learned something in return. She holds the words of Warriors in her chest and stories of Hunters in her eyes. She has learned strength from them. She keeps the hearts of Poets on her tongue and the sights of Lovers in her skin. She cannot turn away from others so easily but cares not to master such arts. Her job is not to become them, but to absorb them.

The phrase that I want to use in this sentence is "The problem is" but it can't be pointed out so blatantly. It's more of a subtle redundancy, the kind that everyone is so wildly aware of that they've forgotten how to define it.
The word "the".
The elephant isn't being ignored, it's that everyone's already adapted to the awkwardness of it. They want to pay attention to just about anything else.

Many have asked her where she was going. In most cases she'll reply with an elaborate lie that comes so very close to the truth in the end. After all, a destination is just a way of steering your course-- why not decide to head in that direction? In some cases, however, she'll be a bit more honest, which is definitely a lie--and she'll say she has no idea. After hearing both, a simple person would decide that she is not only lost but a liar. The Nomad would concur and go further to say that she may just be a contradiction. But she has somewhere to go.

The Hawaiian language has a series of complex sounds but is only written with twelve letters.

Perhaps definitions are simply how well you can subtly define the completely elusive.


Originally written on 8/11/08