Hey, my book comes out on Friday. The Barnes and Nobel edition might be a little late to the party considering how long the vendor account review process is taking, but I’ve already got the Amazon and the Tumblr editions ready and lusting for your attention. So much so that a few poems have gotten loose and demand to be seen now, rather than later.
This is one of them:
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“A Messiah Turns to the Sky, Only to See the Clouds”
What must you think of me?
Sitting here in my corner with my smokes and drinks.
How stupid I must be to let this weight crush me,
How dumb I must be to look on the harder side of things
Than to just lay back and enjoy my freedom.
—“I used to look up into the sun to see my God.”
—And there I would find purpose and strength
—Without which I knew I was nothing.
It doesn’t get any easier.
There is that old stereotypical vision:
|The troubled artist, disassociated, unattached,
|Relationships tattered sails in the wake of the storm that is: Him.
I’m too stubborn to be the stereotype, certainly—
Hopefully.
Rage pounded splinter bit fists,
red from wood and metal and stone,
all that i can batter to get this across.
pen ‘cross ink, hand ‘cross face.
LISTEN, God Dammit, listen to me for one time.
One time …
|this isn’t me
|where did all this hate come from
|and where did romance go?
Sweet summer heat, dominatrix.
Punish me for this hate I have wrought,
Sap the life from me, melt me as I judge them
Unworldly standards no being could match,
—Asking for nothing short of divine
Shallow, lust, and emotional greed.
Lash me/strike me/right me!
God damn it, LISTEN to me!
I have a fucking right to happiness.
The Declaration tells me so.
I should have lived in the first Confederation
|Washington’s not Davis’
Listen to me!
Let us burn each other alive with our passion
I want the stars to green with envy.
“What? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that it’s over. You obviously aren’t going to forgive me, and I don’t want you holding this against me forever.”
“I can forgive, but this … this is going to take some time.”
“I don’t love you, I never did.”
“ … you don’t mean that.”
Eighteen. Eighteen years old, of course I meant it.
Not old enough to know love yet, to understand it.
Doesn’t mean I don’t care.
“Nice pack of redheads you got there mister, can I bum?”
“Tell ya’ what, I’m done with this one anyhow, take the last few drags.”
“Where do you want me to?”
“Just toss it out when you’re done. Be sure to squash it good, can’t have those flames spread.”
“Thanks.”
Always the crazy ones
Things you see out of the corner of your eye
nothing major yet, flashes and sounds.
Memories pushing against the veil,
Trying to swallow you in them.
The illusion of control while having none.
Always the crazy, remind me of you, of me.
God I miss the sex.
Ain’t it sad that’s about all I can say about it now.
There’s more, but I’m not allowed.
Not since the knife.
Not since the knife that ruined my friendship.
Not since I fell, only to fall for.
Not since I felt unrequited for another.
Tried to settle. Twice now.
Maybe just stay single now.
That might be best.
No more sexuality to hide grief.
No more loveless affection.
Maybe it’s that I don’t share,
Perhaps that is the wall between me and you.
I owe you to try.
Treat you like a child, no wonder you act it.
So damn eager to please.
So damn eager to please.
Isn’t that what I wanted?
|“I used to look up into the sun to see my God.”
|And there I would find purpose and strength
|Without which I knew I was nothing.
Through the smoke and haze and roar and taste and feel of it, I know.
I know what it is like to see her,
Naked,
Underneath me,
Driving myself in and out and one with her.
This knowledge is with me always, even in this damp dark place.
Music loud enough to make ears bleed,
Smoke and beer sticking in the air.
Dim,
Dark,
Lecherous.
The air is thick with lust and I am not immune.
Detach myself from this.
Like everything else in life.
Perhaps connections are not for me to keep.
Burnt too bright, felt too deep.
Sorry dear little Kate,
At this point I’m just scarring scars
And mutilated mutilations are no place for love to grow.
I care for you sweet self, I do.
But where bridges can be built,
There is only knowledge of her.
In the wind and the shaking leaf.
For you I try to recover,
But her I Lust for.
/In the bottom of the whiskey I drowned instead of class,
/Sitting there head spinning, forgetting the where and who
/Wanting in that instance the peace and end,
/Selfish—selfish—selfish as it is.
In the scent you give off, the shape of your face, the feel of your skin—
Eyes open and stood back, the illusion is broken.
No matter the desire, no matter the intent.
Her/You.
Eternally separate.
To be stripped of emotion
To let the hands of goD reach down,
Skin me of humanity,
And tear the burden of Eden from my tired arms.
God, after all that—what must you think of me?
|”I used to look up into the sun to see my God.”
|And there I would find purpose and strength
|Without which I knew I was nothing.
One more beer for the road, gents.
—one more beer for the go.
It’ll get you through those cloudy days.
It’ll get you through those dry patches.
One more beer for the road, gents.
Might be the last you get.
An Atheist walked into a church and screamed
“You don’t need a god, just a self!”
And back the church yelled, in unison
“Fuck off!”
Ain’t for their health I guarantee it.
But it would be nice for the sun to be itself again.
