—ANY FORWARD GEAR WILL DO

 

                                                   Bad Haircut

 

         He checks himself in the rearview, his son passenger-side, antsy but sullen, pierced and tatted up, earphones in the last hundred miles, father and son on a drive, to rehab, $20,000 a month, twenty-fucking-thousand, the road swirling like dead rope or dollar signs, father noticing the choppy cut around his own ear tops, uneven bangs, remembering the palsied way Jerry had used the trimmer, hand tremors almost as bad as his junkie son’s, the kid who has everything except for, apparently, a mogul of cocaine, which is enough to make a man disavow his own blood, yet he drives on dutifully, ripping a tuft of hair free, roots and all, a wet trickle sludging down his neck as he recognizes the boy’s stammered breathing, the parched thirst, so much like his own, unquenchable, unkillable, one more nuisance fingering his chest, his lungs, his right cheek where his wallet twitches, like an off-kilter heart. 

—I’M ALWAYS A LITTLE LOST

 

 …It’s a little freaky when your heartbeat looks like a Geiger counter.

 

…Of all the organs in my body, I always thought my heart was the safe one. Nope.

 

…It’s taken a while, but I’m learning how to live on the edges, how to work around the misery.

 

…Yesterday I was really missing the bunny hop.

 

…If you could know when, and how, you were going to die, would you want to? I never thought I would, but I’m starting to lean that way.

 

…Being competitive certainly is a double-edged sword.

 

…Everybody needs a hero. But heroes are really just people, too.

 

…RBG said she’d move to Australia if it happened. That’s probably a good plan B.

 

…If you can picture a six-foot-three scarecrow stumbling around the road like he’s on stilts, that’ll be me.

 

…I’m somehow still alive while all those curtains fall.

 

…I’ve got to stop getting ahead of myself, or behind, just get in line, that’s what I need to do.

 

…I got something to hold back. If I put up a fight, it’ll follow me home.

 

…Always second-guessing yourself is no way to live.

 

…I only want one thing for Christmas. Please?

 

…I’m trying to learn how to not care about someone’s problems more than they do.

 

…“Where shall I hide my things?” Emily Dickinson

 

…It can be too easy to give yourself too much grace.

 

…I think maybe I know more than I should.

…You make me feel high, you make me feel blue…but this shit is hard, I guess that both can be true.

...It's interesting now, being the lone sober one.

 

…These birds must think I’m nuts, walking around the house in circles.

...The hard thing is learning to say the quiet part out loud.

 

…And suddenly, the phrase My heart skipped a beat has an entirely different meaning. 

 

your life is your life

don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.

be on the watch.

there are ways out.

there is light somewhere.

it may not be much light but

it beats the darkness.

be on the watch.

the gods will offer you chances.

know them.

take them.

you can’t beat death but

you can beat death in life, sometimes.

and the more often you learn to do it,

the more light there will be.

your life is your life.

know it while you have it.

you are marvelous

the gods wait to delight

in you.

—Charles Bukowski

—YOU JUST SETTLE IN, LIKE A SONG WITH NO END

  

reconciled

fire burns out at midnight 

all the ghost stories told 

we’re pretzled in a sleep bag

like a squid 

your breath an invisible flame 

whispering Help me Save me please

while the virus sinks cities 

morgue after morgue

bones upon bones 

death and calamity 

the two dice it took

to bring you back home

 

—I’M LEARNING TO LOVE THE MISERY

 

 

Dinner

 

I let him take me, this hairless cloud, just this one time, I said to myself. He kissed me unarmed, so sweet and deft, and disrobed me like a magician with shifty silk gloves. The ceiling looked like whipped cream that had been left to dry, a lightning crack over one foam-hardened swell. I noticed other things, like the murky bedroom windows, like the batwing-beats of his breath, how urgent and sweaty they sounded, which made me picture him as a youth, running hurdles in track, dreaming of the Olympics and believing the impossible. When it was finished, I tapped nails, listening for his parakeets, but heard his mother instead, calling him to dinner, saying it was cold again, right there on the plate where she’d left it the day before.

 —MAY YOU GROW UP TO BE RIGHTEOUS, MAY YOU GROW UP TO BE TRUE

 

 …Sleep doesn’t sound like much, until you can’t.

 

…“Are you mad at me? Because it seems like you’re mad at me.”

 

…Two things can be true at the same time.

 

…It’s good to be missed, and to know about it.

 

...It’s still very difficult, in case you’re wondering.

 

…It’s nice to know you were amazing once. Something to cling to when it gets a little dark out.

 

…If you saw this document I’m writing on you would laugh your ass off, or else call 911.

 

…There are moments when I wonder if it’s even possible to get that lonely.

 

…Sometimes, when someone asks you, “What are your plans this weekend?” it’s an honest probe, yet it makes you buckle nonetheless.

 

…One thing I don’t ever want to discover is blunt force trauma.

 

…Sometimes, what you imagine and what happens, cannot be more polar.

 

…That could have gone either way.

 

…Someone’s gotta throw a flag, right?

 

…--“What’s all that sighing about?

--“If I could articulate it, I’d tell you.”

 

…If it doesn’t matter, well, that’s a problem.

 

…And, so, this is a good idea? Why again?

 

…What am I looking for, exactly?

 

…It must be really hard being perfect, but if you’re perfect, you probably don’t even realize it.

 

…All those passwords written down—I hope someone, someday, finds them. Or not.

 

…When someone says, “I don’t mean this as a criticism,” it’s usually followed up with a pretty critical assessment.

 

…The system isn’t perfect. Bad guys somehow win all the time.   

 

…I’m sorry/not sorry, but the guy’s a fucking lunatic. There’s no getting around it. 

 

…Just don’t blow it. Please?

 

…If you don’t read the whole message, the entire thing can get obliterated pretty easily.

 

…What is life like out there?

 

…The neighbor’s dogs keep leaping off the dock, yet I’m still here somehow.

 

…It took me all this time, and I’m just now up to fall of 2020, such a happy era.

 

…More than love or missing, I’ve come to decide it’s really attention that matters the most, and listening is the key.    

 

…Well, if you don’t know the right words, maybe that’s your answer.

 

…I think the reason for a broken relationship is one person not recognizing their responsibility.

 

...Show, don’t tell. That’s all I need to know.

 

…Good or bad, the question is always: What’s the motive?

 

…What the hell was that?

 

...When you really need a friend, and they show up without your asking, that’s as good as it gets. 

 

…It’s time to find a new way to medicate my feelings, and has been for some time now.

 

…What was this even?

 

…How can I expect you to understand when I can’t even understand it myself?

 

…Counting down the minutes seems like a losing proposition at this point, don’t you think?

 

…It’s funny, the things we stop caring about.

 

…Whatever you do, let the right one in.

 

…Maybe no answer is the right answer.

 

…You can’t get it back. But those were good times, and you were in it, and it meant something, so in a way you still have it.

 

…Just for the record—I think I sigh a lot. Whatever that means.

 

…I’m trying to learn to let go.

 

…Hope you’re doing okay!

 

…Sometimes I just want to blame the pain on it.

 

…“Make good choices!”

 

…Where did all of those spots come from?

 

…Wow. I was good this time.

 

…It can be difficult, but sometimes you have to realize that it’s their shit, not yours.

 

…What a year this has made of me so far.

 

…I’ll bet you’re feeling all shiny and new, and though I sound like a Hater, I’m actually really happy for you.

 

…I always wonder about the mindset of a person who attaches a flag, or many, to the back of their vehicle. I mean, I know they want to be noticed, but what were those moments of instillation like? What kinds of things were they saying to themselves?

 

…“When the road looks rough ahead,
and you're miles and miles
from your nice warm bed,
you just remember what your old pal said,
‘Boy, you've got a friend in me.’
Yeah, you've got a friend in me.”

 

…Sit on trains and think of you. It hurts, it helps, I can’t tell.

 

…Smile, if you can. Maybe, even if it hurts.

 

…Oh God, get over here.

 

…Comparison is the thief of joy.

 

…Sure, it’s about insecurity, but it’s still nice to hear someone else say you’re good at something.

 

…No offense, but there’s a knot in your logic.

 

…“It’s that time again. Let’s pledge!”

 

…I don’t really know how to do this correctly.

 

…It’s just a little dance we do.

 

…Time keeps on coming, and yet I’m still here.

 

…Better to be half an hour early than one minute late.

 

…Why would you say that?

 

…Search the definition of shame and I’m sure you’ll see my name.

 

…There are a thousand reasons and I can’t even find one.

 

…How much do you like feeling right? It must be a joy above all others.

 

…Yeah, but somehow you found your way to this one, so isn’t that something?

 

…Just so you know, Florence Pugh is a wonder.

 

…You know you’re older when one of the constant strains of conversations among friends is ailments, and how many each has.

 

…I’m no good at this, I’m fucking up. So excuse me if I’m wasting all the fun.

 

…Whoa. That was close to catastrophe just now.

 

…If you don’t act on your thoughts, you shouldn’t have to answer for them, should you?

 

…This lake and I have spent so much time together. It may know me better than I know myself.

 

…Try to fix myself, you know how hard that would be.

 

…See, that wasn’t so bad.

 

…That’s disgusting. Thank you.

 

…I guess I’ll put my armor back on now.

—DON’T NEED AN EXTRA EYE TO SEE

 

 

You’re not going to school dressed like that

 

But she did, because her friends did and the pop stars they followed did, but none were raped in a bathroom stall and later labeled a slut and none had to hide it from their father who had done his own fair share of pillaging when the house was locked and paying attention to anything but what was happening in her bedroom.

 

—I DON’T WANT TO BE ME TODAY

 

 

You Have No New Messages

 

At the Grief Center we share everything, including our spleens and leftover spinal fluid because we’ve learned how to step outside of our distress and exoskeletons. One person offers up her waist-down bones stuffed in a burlap sack. “They can’t control me any longer,” he says, claiming Imposter Syndrome. Another uncovers a silver room service dome, saying, “See, he really did steal my heart,” blood popping hot in the center of our ill-formed circle. The instructor huffs on his air-filled pipe, rolling his hand like a wave or propeller, More, More. Let’s hear more. The dead child, who is a ghost, hovers like a constipated cherub with nothing to divulge, occasionally dropping scat. Someone’s cell pings, then someone else’s, until the instructor relents and rolls his propeller hand again, Go ahead. Take it. Maybe it’s important. At last, a new ghost child enters late, every head turning, then applauding as if it’s the messiah, that toddler holding the steering wheel her mother was gripping when she drove them all off the bridge.