Bubbles

We live in bubbles
All of us
Where everyone else is visible
But the barrier exists
To keep us from caring
We're just spectators
Voyeurs
Carrying on despite
The hell that is brewing in
The minds of others.
I wonder if I just
Laid down in the grass
Right there on the
Perfectly mowed lawn
In broad daylight
People jogging by
If I just
Screamed
Surely people would notice
But part of me believes
That maybe
No
Maybe I'm the only thing real
Maybe I'm the only thing not.

Tomorrow

The house fan
Is pulling
My kush incense
Through this tiny house
It's cool for summer
But it's night
And still humid
I've lost count
Of the beers I've had
While I wonder
What people are thinking
What lives they're living
What is the future even
And how long am I in it
Will I open tomorrow's door
And find more of the same
Crack another beer
Light some more incense
Or will there be
Lovely surprises
Diversions
Secret adventures
And some such
Hopefully also involving
Beer?

Horcrux

Ruin yourself

For the greater good.

Lost in here

I'm sinking
Getting smaller, further away
Everyone is fading
The stars are anchors
Holding me in the world
For only so long
I was doing well
Living and breathing
Existing without questioning
The existence of others
But now I'm the only lonely thing
About to be sucked into
The black hole in my head
Grasping for handholds in
The nothingness around me

Front steps

I lose time
On these stairs
Dreaming scenarios
Mouthing lyrics
Shining my bat signal
Into the night
Escaping
Looking for life
Trying to feel
Waiting for anything to happen
Watching life pass.

Dusk

I'm still drying from a long shower
It's dusk
The bats
Lightning bugs
The hush sounds of the river
I'm sitting on the front steps
Admiring the deep shadowed greens
The branches silhouetted
In the semi-darkness
Against a surreal summer sky
Jupiter hanging low and bright
Just above the trees
I'm in love with everything
All of this
And this is how the world requites.

One week

I drink
Because it's easier to
Drown uncomfortable emotions
Than actually feel them.
Not sadness.
I've made a weird peace with melancholy.
But rage, irritation, dread,
The feeling that I don't belong anywhere
With anyone,
And right now
I haven't had a drink in a week
And instead of feeling proud of myself
I am a stew of discomfort and anger
And tears and trying to blink back tears
Because tears are uncomfortable
For everyone.
God I want a drink.

Sober

Shit, man.
Words don't come as easy
Without mental lubrication
It all feels so deliberate
Words chosen instead of vomited
I promised myself
After my heavy heart vibrated
In my chest
Panicked me
I couldn't lift myself up
That I would stop
Hurting myself
Because I'm not a teenager
And self destructive behavior
Just isn't cool anymore.

Storm

This isn't my life
Dreams showed me a truth better
Than this confusion

I'm falling backward
Without an end or safety
Through sweet delusion

The storm is passing
Fleeting sun shining on me
Welcome illusion

Memorial Day Squirrels

Three squirrels
Chase each other across
The fence top
Wiggling ridiculous tails

I thought animals were made
Of much more instinct
And survival

But I know I just saw
The middle squirrel
Hop over the first
Goddammit
They are playing

I'm daydrinking on the back deck
Alone

It's Memorial Day

A day to quietly reflect
On squirrel behavior.

Nothing

I'm not even a blip.
A thought.
Even though my brain
Is so loud.
Colorful.
Overflowing.
I mean,
How could it not be noticed?
There's times
I convince myself
I am the center.
But really
I'm a background character.
Just an extra.
Insignificant.
Unremarkable.
Flat.

Full moon

People speak to
Invisible gods
So
I don't feel all that mad
Out here
Begging favors from the moon
Please
Hear

The weekend begins

It's a sticky warm Friday afternoon
My hair is biggish and frizzy
Sweat at the scalp
I smell like sleep and summer
Morning coffee has been swapped for liquor
Pretty quickly
Lawnmowers happen through the window
Erica Jong Half Lives open
On the kitchen table
And I realize all the poetry
In the world never hits me so hard
As a Springsteen song

I do what I want.

This life
Time
Is all a charade
Illusion
No matter what we do.
Who gives a shit
What I do or why
In the long run
In the big picture.
From the dawn of time to now
We're just a blip
An insignificant blip.
We can do what we want
And fuck off to every
Judgy shit
That thinks otherwise.

Stoppit

It's hard to be silent and mindful
Withdraw from unhealthy behaviors
Focus on what should be
Instead of reaching for coulds
Don't drink, don't get weird
Stop hyper focusing
Nobody likes that
Quit creeping, quit brooding
Just exist within these boundries
Where no one is uncomfortable
And no one gets hurt
And everyone wins but me.

Awake

I'm sober tonight
and plan to be
better
Plan to shed this shadow
Find myself again
Stop trying to find
meaning and holy moments
in those who can't see me
Life is uncertainty
Answers don't exist
Only the odd insights
Unexpected soul confrontations
Irretrievable spots of beauty
that linger only in memory
And there's no way to force these things
It feels as if we're in this
awkward conflicting state
both passive and responsible
But we do have the controls
Repeat after me
I am not confined to this role
I am never stuck
I am not a character in this story
I'm the writer.

Exploding

How can some seem so
Emotionless when
I am so fucking
OVERRUN WITH THEM
Is it a male thing
To not show any sign
Of being human
Or am I just so
Unstable
That I distrust those
That appear to have this shit
Figured out
I can't live tonight
Without music shaking me
Liquor turning me inside out
Poems to shoot and kill
My demons with
My mind is an exploding universe
And I can't deal with
The goddammed laundry or dishes.

Slow burn

Tread lightly
Regardless of what dreams
Drunken intuition
Or pangs of lonely
Tell you

It's fragile
And as messy as I am
As hard the need is
There's so many sides
So many
Sides

I'm afraid
Of acting and not
Change
No change
It can't all coexist
One cancels out

I don't want to know
How this ends.
I need to know
How it begins.

Tunes, man. Tunes.

Life needs a soundtrack

Until this can happen
I will continue to just blast my music
In every situation
And irritate the neighbors.

Boom.

I always wake up chonky, dammit

I dream
And I am who I feel
On the inside
On the outside
The pictures match
So that I wake
Disappointed in myself
Every day
Stuck in this
Heavy vehicle.

Sunday night

The hardest part
Is living in this
By myself

Seeing this
Beauty
Alone

There's only
One mind
In here

Talking to itself
Creating illusions
Dreaming

Feeling full
Feeling empty
Feeling everything

Inventing
Is not so crazy
I'm not so crazy

Fucking hell
This world
Makes no sense anymore

I may as well
Create my
Own

change

I stand on a cliff
peering over, deciding
do I stay or jump

my bones would all mend
or they wouldn't, I don't know
miracles happen

it occurs to me
that i'm already broken
so what can I lose

the scales are balanced
and I don't know where to go
so I sit and hope

that the choice makes me.

Absorbed

I believe
my thoughts are magnetic
my dreams, a black hole.

that my mind would have the power
to interrupt the lives of others.

who the fuck do I think I am

I'm lost inside a
suffocating inescapable
prison of me

Nothing moments

"I'm only human..."
Plays on a clock radio
I am 9 years old.

Lying on a floor
Watching the radio light
Red dot in the dark.

Nothing happening
Such a vivid memory
it was, nonetheless.

And that's all life is
Just tiny nothing moments
Full of everything.

Seasonal

The veil separating
Ordinary life and reality
Wears thin, I think
Sometime around November
When the dark expands
And moves through us.
We see more of the possibilities
Like seeing a mirrored reflection
Of a another mirror
Where each echoed picture
Is just a little different.
Could haves.
Could be.
Regrets.
Potential.

Life Less

Rain is flooding
The river
A casual crisis
Rising
Cross the road
I'm uselessly sighing
Breathing cat piss
And beer
Reading DH
Still in my boots
Sinking into
Sinking into
Nothing.

A photo of a photo

Memory's chain
Shiny, the part
Held now
Yesterday breakfast
A movie, a book.
A bad day at work.
The news.

Rusty, though, the end
Left dragging
Through the fog at night
Names and years.
Faulty snapshots
Of a bridge
After a flood.

I revisit the vivid
Untarnished dream links
(between peeling faces
From a yearbook)
And small sections
Of regret
That will never break down
Under the elements
Of time and change.

Tonight I sat with my beer
In the dark, following my chain
Backwards, to the bridge
The new bridge over the
Yakima, a No Trespassing notice
To their backs
Kids,
Shining amid rust.

Mental

Most of my misery
Stems from the idea
That another human being
Can somehow fix
What is happening
In my head.
When I know they can't.
Fact is, that belief
Makes it worse.
Alcohol doesn't fix it, either.
Writing about it
Doesn't fix it, either.
Nothing fucking fixes me
The end.

39

It's past 4am
On a night where I swore
I'd get at least
6 hours
But I've only got
5 hours left
And I'm still
Googling
Googling
Googling
Names and videos
How-to's
Old Myspace pages
Obits and old addresses
Other people's reviews
Of hikes, shops, dives
In other states
I'm too aware
Of how stationary I've become
Also, it's almost 5am now
So that's 4.
4 hours left and then I'm having
Mimosas for breakfast.
Happy birthday, me.
Last year of your 30s.
Here's hoping it's your last
Stationary year.

Seven days late

I thought
I was still
Young enough
For the one thing
But maybe
Actually
I might be
Old enough
For the other.
It still
Hasn't come
But I tested
Clean.
I celebrated
With drinks.
Forgot
Panicked
Plans.
A negative
Can be such
A positive.