kick start

there is no white line

one day i will look up and notice the power
and
the glory

eastbound i can't see but for
spots of light where did you go after i
promised to drive you home but then
left you sitting on the curb with
a rip in your shirt and a half-empty bottle of bear

in those two seconds when
i'm wondering that

it would only take two seconds for me to
jerk the wheel toward the other lane
i hope they hit the side of my car
so that i am pulled toward
the other driver
who will see the dreams on my face

shards of glass on the curb

where you left your anger

and your ripped t-shirt



tomorrow is another day

push pin black holes

stable stable this is not real
the pretense of love i show her is so wrong
breakdown breakdown how would you feel
if i said i haven't told you the truth in so long?

liar liar i am the one who
feels so guilty every time i see her
empty empty i already told you
this is nothing and i am its keeper.

re: new yorker, page 128 ("the way" by albert goldbarth)

the endless blue, where you can't
tell where the sky ends and the ocean
begins, where the middleman is missing
and it's just wind and water just
wind and water for thousands and
thousands of miles;

and he was right, it's silly to name it
"the sky"
because this is what it is:
it is
the piece of everything — absolutely everything,
the entire universe, everything that exists right now —
that you see
through the trees in your backyard

where the middleman goes missing
the earth drops away and there are
years and years of light separating us
from the sun and from all the milky ways
that no one sees

i'll

never grasp it

(do the stars conspire
to kill us all with loneliness?)



i will reach up my hands and they will be
silhouettes against the sky

metamorphosis

headlights
a dark night

blood spattered
he burned
so bright

"five months"
"should have
said something"
it's a slap in the face
you can hear the sound of
that trust falling out and it
stings

daylight
(can you see clearly now? i'll
show you again, look:)

"in me"
"you don't know"
did you ever think about it that way?
i bet you didn't and now
there's a guilt surging up your spine like the bones
surging up his spine and it
stings

are kerosene and a lighter ever the right thing to do?
but look at them, isn't that exactly what you wanted
to see

and when he used to say "not alone"
it meant something and his brother
would feel like he wasn't alone
but now it sounds thin enough
to be torn in half by the breath of a child

headlights
a dark night
it's been a long couple of days.
and it still stings
they're trying to open up their wounds
expose them to the air to let
them heal but by the time this thing is over
each of them is
hurting
a little more
than they were before.

second son of joseph

grassy knoll next to a brick red [facade]
[full of] books, stacks of books -and [but]
[no glassy shine] -bubbles, could you still see if
the sun were a little bit closer?

if you reach
then maybe you can touch it

doubled down double dare
give it a try, a wink, a gold tooth
winking [in the texas sun]
the sun is [much] too warm today

if you see clearly
then maybe you can touch it

someone looked up and saw you but
it's too late. "well, it's all over now"
you said, when the ocean blue came [in]
pulled you offstage out of the sun

if your hand is steady
then maybe you can touch it

grassy knoll next to brick red [facade]
things look normal today, you know, except
a white x
in the middle of the road where

NOVEMBER 22ND, 1963

a crack
the crowd gasps
and brains spill all over
jackie's lap

if your sight is true
then maybe

(who were the ones who told you that?)

metropolis

i snapped (literally) and pretty pretty, it was aflame,
the whole goddamn building,
i told you i'm not good with precision,
and god, it howled

flames like me
they lick at my hands with their wet, hot little tongues
they run up and jump up on my legs and chest
and lick my face with their wet, bright little eyes

and they howl
not at the moon
they howl at the whole goddamn world

i like the warmth, and cold will kill me one day
(i promise you that, motherfucker the whole goddamn
building is ablaze — don't you dare tell me it's my fault.
i'm the one who's dying
in the inferno
the inferno likes me, it burns like a fever,
and when it sees me, it explodes)

i can't see the floor it's
two feet in front of my face, the heat and the blindness
smoke, sweat pouring off my back, all together now:
you're one serious fuckup, damien! now god PLEASE
GET ME OUT OF HERE.

it's so cold that i can see the mist
of my breath
in front of my face

it looks like cigarette smoke

for obvious reasons

good evening.
i'm damien.
i'm the fire man
(not the fireman)

and one day i'll stop dreaming.

(thank god for cloudy nights. the sunset is enough to break me
into a million desperate little pieces.)

castiel is not angela

when wings unfurl in shadows
and there's longing in all that you see
when your only hope is hit the ground
while necks are snapped one two three

when you're doing so well with looking so strong
but you just end up broken instead
then you know it's time to go straight back home
before your brother winds up dead.