—YOU KNOCKED THE WIND OUT OF ME

 

Clocks

The clock, with its lazy eye, is trying to tell me there’s no time left, that the end is a sheet which won’t fit, a bolt of cloth that can’t quite reach up and cover my head to shield the sun.

When they put you down for good today, I lost whatever armor I ever had. Like an infant digging in sand, I fought the clock’s unravel, waiting for flags to rise so I could call and gossip, as usual, everything they said about this girl I knew and loved so much.

 

—WATCHING THE WHOLE WORLD SHAKE 

 

 

…Good Lord, how long does it take to get a fucking MRI back?

 

…Six says I’ll be there before you know it.

 

…That was absolutely one of the worst ideas ever. Never visit your best friend’s haunts the day before you say Goodbye forever. 

 

…What kind of fool am I?

 

…I got a lot older this week, and I look it.

 

…I think I just need to be sad for a little while longer if you’re okay with that. 

  

…That was never going to happen (and I’m not talking about you) because it was impetuous and dumb.

 

…I know there’s no easy way, but I don’t really know how to lose a best friend.

 

…Even monsters have a brain. So, what do you call that Fucker?

 

…Maybe you can live on protein bars alone. I’m managing so far.

 

…I don’t want you to be gone forever. Are you really gone forever?

 

…The truth is I needed the anguish all to myself. It had nothing to do with therapy.

 

…Well, that hurt. Like, a lot.

 

…What you see as shame, I see as purity.

 

…Why is it so dark?

 

…Right now, I’m scared to death, but ask me tomorrow and maybe it’ll be different..

 

…This shouldn’t matter as much as it does.

 

…Maybe it’s a protection mechanism—one’s unwillingness to feel deeply.

 

…What I’m trying to tell myself right now is, Get your shit together.

 

…How’s it look out there? Seems pretty scary to me.

 

…Most people are stronger than me, and by “most,” I mean anyone.

 

…I’m sorry to hear that.

 

…I’ve heard eating food is a good way to stay alive.

 

…Tell me a about “happy.” Tell me all about it.

 

…How do I even know that’s true?

 

…Well, there you go.

 

…If I’m not careful, I’m really going to be in big trouble yet again.

 

…When you’ve got nothing left, at least mail it in.

 

…Just listen to yourself.

 

--So, I should say nothing?

--Probably.

--So, less said the better?

--Yes. Exactly. 

…“She had eaten real food for so long that she’d forgotten how good nothing tasted.” Allegra Goodman, This Is Not About Us 

 

--How are you?

--Okay. How are you?

--Concerned.

--About what?

--Take your pick.

 

…Isn’t it funny how, when you’re young, you want to be older, and then when you’re old, all you want is to be young again?

 

…I don’t think I’m a pessimist. I think I’m just what you might call a battered optimist.

 

…There’s nothing to be done with feelings but to feel them, no matter how much they hurt.

 

…People always say I get too sad too easily. But maybe there’s something there.

 

…Let what go?

 

…Everybody has a story. But not everybody has the words.

 

…I don’t have to tell you—there are a million different ways to tell a story.

 

…How about ours.

 

…Use what you have. Then paint and paint and paint.

 

…The problem with a sunset is that it never stays still.

 

…“Sadness may be many things, but it is rarely stupid.” Allen Levi, Theo of Golden

 

…We live in a world now where there has to be an answer for everything. We can’t just allow ourselves to dwell in the wonder of not knowing.

 

…You apologize an awful lot, you know?

 

…I don’t think I have an answer for that.

 

…So many things get decided in a split second.

 

…When someone tells you to “Fuck off,” it’s startling. So, don’t tell me “Fuck” has lost its verve.

 

…The answers are out there—all you have to do is ask.

 

…“I’m really trying to find something nice to say. I really am.” Tony Hoagland, on his deathbed

 

…Here’s the kind of person you want to model your behavior after, here’s the kind of “person” you want for your President:

“I know why Tucker Carlson, Megyn Kelly, Candace Owens, and Alex Jones have all been fighting me for years, especially by the fact that they think it is wonderful for Iran, the Number One State Sponsor of Terror, to have a Nuclear Weapon,” Trump wrote in a lengthy post on his Truth Social platform. “Because they have one thing in common, Low IQs. They’re stupid people, they know it, their families know it, and everyone else knows it, too!”

 

…Supreme Court remade by Trump ushers in historic defeats for civil rights

The sharply conservative Supreme Court that President Donald Trump’s three appointees remade is the first since at least the 1950s to reject civil rights claims in a majority of cases involving women and minorities, according to a detailed analysis conducted for The Washington Post.

 

…What’s embarrassing is reading it all back, which is why you never should.

 

…There’s repeating yourself, then there’s repeating yourself on the very same page. Neither is good, but the latter is especially appalling, especially when it’s me doing it.

 

…“It was so much better to do, to make, to give, than to sit in silence.” Allegra Goodman, This Is Not About Us

 

...Please if anything, don’t let me be stupid.

 

…Stupid is as stupid does.

 

…There are no badges for crying over someone at 4 am, and there shouldn’t be.

 

… You’re a lot. But I still love you.

 

…“That’s hilarious.” Is it? If you say so.

 

…This seems like a good time to go to sleep.

 

…No. just leave it there. Someone will get it eventually.

 

…I don’t even know. 

 

…Wow, seeing that lit up feels really spooky and claustrophobic.

 

…Maybe I’m not authorized. That would make sense.

 

…Oh gosh, there you go.

 

…If you change your mind, I’m within reach.

 

…Do you understand what that was?

 

…I could be up here killing someone, and no one would know or care.

 

…Care is a pretty important and often overlooked word.

  

…“How could you? How could you leave like that? Were you punishing me? Is that what you were doing?” Allegra Goodman, This Is Not About Us

 

 

—I’M ALREADY RUNNING

 

Pat

 

I’m having airplane dreams the kind you can’t drop out of no matter the height like I dreamt I met a black woman who told me how lucky I was to be white I called her an angel and then a black woman when she asked me again because she was both I swear she could have taken my hand or led me anywhere that day

I came here to mourn and I got that part down pat My friend is dead dead dead No more Little Italy for either of us and we won’t be texting tomorrow either Maybe what she was trying to tell me was how to live better than she did Or maybe she wasn’t saying anything at all I’ll never know 

At the house where she used to laugh the wind rode up whipping all of a sudden The awnings shook It felt like it might storm at any minute

 

—YESTERDAY WAS A LOT LIKE LEAVING LAS VEGAS                             

 

                                            Boardwalk Lives

       Lester has faster hands.  His fingers are thin, too, as long as carrots, and he can lift a wallet from the back pocket of any man, no matter how fat they are, no matter how tight their trousers be.  That’s why Momma likes Lester best.  Daddy stopped providing after Trina took the city under, and last we heard he’s shacking up with some rich lady who lives east of here in a pretty-sounding town called Violet.  

       Lester and me, we know the Quarter better than anybody, even the old codgers.  Sometimes it feels like we was born in the middle of the Square, pushed through a crack in the white-washed cement without consent, like those wicked weeds that look plain until you touch them and invisible needles sink into your skin

       At night, if Momma’s smoking the rock, I’ll come down to the boardwalk by myself.  There’s a man who plays banjo and harmonica, both at once, while he taps a cymbal with his foot.  There’s a lady inside a cloth booth who’ll read your palm for a certain amount, depending on what you want to know.  When she read Lester’s, I watched her eyes get jittery in the lamplight, devil-spooked.  She wouldn’t share what she learned, just made up something we all knew was a lie.

       Lester and me don’t think we’ll make it to twenty years old.  We only talked about it once.  “Lives while you can,” he said, jutting his jaw all cocky like.  “Lives.”

       Tonight I see the lady whose purse I stole earlier in the day.  She’s wearing the same floral-print dress and floppy hat, but she’s with a different man than she was before.  This one’s got quite a gut on him.  His outfit is a boxy t-shirt, cutoffs and white socks inside of sandals.  Man do he look stupid.

       They stop at a restaurant, taking seats outside on the patio.  I already gave most of the lady’s money and credit cards to Momma, but I memorized her driver’s license.  She’s Amy Jo Homes from Seattle.

       Amy don’t touch this man at all, don’t snuggle him or place kisses on his neck like the other guy.  She eats without talking and I can tell she’s thinking about the handsome man from this morning.

       I have a trick I play where I make myself someone else, and I do that right now.

       I sit across from Amy Jo.  I tell her she’s the most beautiful thing on the planet, not just people, but more beautiful than anything the Lord cooked up.  I watch her eat ice cream.  I hold her hand, nod toward the stars.  I say, “Aren’t they something?” and she agrees.

 

 —I DON’T KNOW, MY FRIEND. THIS IS NOT NOTHING.

 

…Yay. It’s just an essential tremor. Could have been a lot worse, that’s for sure. 

 

…You can make it mean whatever you what it to, so make sure you make yourself look good, because you should.

 

…We’ve always had an understanding. I’m not sure what we understand exactly.

 

…Whether you know it or not, I pretty much killed these shoes.

 

…We’re moving backward because time doesn’t matter when you have none left together.

 

…Looks empty over here.

 

…But really, what does it matter?

 

…“It’s a particular kind of pleasure, of intimacy, loving a book with someone.” Lily King 

 

…I guess we don’t really know what we are right now.

 

…All right, we’ll just do it that way then.

 

…No one wants to hear your worn out war stories, so it’s best just to keep your trap shut.

 

…I’m not sure how anyone could even describe it anyway.

 

…I didn’t know I had expected anything until it wasn’t there.

 

…Well, can’t shoot you for trying.

 

…Maybe I’m just jealous. Wouldn’t be the first time.

 

…One of us has changed, or maybe we just stopped trying.

 

…Just look at the sun going down and down and down.

 

…I sure hope Jack Antonoff is not a dick, or I won’t believe in anything.

 

…Don’t have to laugh so hard. Don’t have to wear a tie…

 

…Oh boy.

 

…So, you’re not even listening to the music?

 

…It doesn’t work that way.

 

…People smile and tell me I’m the lucky one.

 

…This is going to take some time.

 

…I’m not sure what I mean either.

 

…“Art does not come from ideas. Art does not come from the mind. Art comes from the place where you dream. Art comes from your unconscious. It comes from the white-hot center of you.” Robert Olen Butler.

 

…Pirate costumes only work when they’re real.

 

…Someday I’ll have to show you all of these things that fucked me up.

 

…Yeah, you can’t save me when I’m like this. And the thing is, you don’t even know who I am anymore.

 

…I really don’t think you’d have been able to handle it. Nope.

 

…Well, you don’t have to show off.

 

…It takes a lot more effort to be stern than to just say Yes.

 

…There are answers out there—all you have to do is ask.

 

…Maybe it wasn’t all my fault.

 

…I’m pretty good at shooting myself in the foot.

 

…I guess I have to get used to the idea that I’ll ever figure out why you did what you did.

 

…If you’re feeling small, I’ll love your shadow.

 

…I don’t need to understand it all to know I felt what I felt. 

 

…There are answers out there—all you have to do is ask.

  

…I’m pretty good at shooting myself in the foot.

…I don’t need to understand it all to know I felt what I felt. 

 

…I guess there’s no need to say anything after all.

 

—DON’T TAKE THE MONEY

 

Say Goodbye Like You Mean It

 

It’s the shock 

of light, not 

knowing who 

to trust anymore, 

as if I’ve been 

taxidermied and 

propped upright

beneath a sconce by 

the other exoskeletons

whose names you knew, 

or like, is that tree 

leaning or is it about 

to crush me for good? 

You said I love you

like you meant it, 

but then that mosquito 

looked full before it 

sank its stem into my arm 

and stayed there.

 

—THERE MUST BE SOMEWAY OUT OF HERE

 

 

Number 17A

 

This morning the cat 

is speaking in tongues 

and the stereo’s playing 

with matches 

while I keep trying 

to juggle each empty carcass. 

It’s a visceral occasion, 

a Jackson Pollock contusion,

though the days fold themselves

into the panty drawer

neat as crimson blintzes.

If you left a note,

it must have got 

snatched by crypt-keeper.

He’s been known to filch

whatever he finds 

most authentic and offensive.