—WON’T YOU, PLEASE, TELL ME, WHERE HAVE ALL THE GOOD TIMES GONE?
I’m Bravest When The Sun Goes Down
I don’t tell you, of course, but I see it on a reel, habitually.
Sometimes it’s a dive, or a noose, or an engine left running.
Other times my head explodes like a plum tomato across the wallpaper and shades, crimson splatter glistening like the most beautiful Rorschach ever.
If I had a gun, I’d swallow it and marinate every bullet with my residual aspiration.
If I had a garrote, I’d let it sing to me, till both of us were breathless and benign.
I’m wisest when the sun goes down, hyenas salivating in the thrush, their puce and mustard eyes glaring, wind as shrill as a white flag thrown.
But it’s the days that unlace me, that lay me out along the tarry railroad ties, distant whistle singing its proud glory.
I don’t tell you this, of course, because you have problems of your own, each much heavier than mine, their weight the crush that rests between us, like regrets too futile to face.
—I’VE SEEN LONELY TIMES WHEN I COULD NOT FIND A FRIEND
https://ghostparachute.com/the-thing-about-loneliness/
—I CAN BARELY LEAVE THE HOUSE, MOOD IS ALWAYS
MOVING SOUTH
bottom
I’ve got
smoke on
the brain
and playing
card eyes
can’t tell
the truth
when you’re
living a lie
Autumn’s been
the cruelest trick
a stack
of backward
steps you
can’t outrun
and now
a murder
hornet nest
I hope the
moon is
bright and
good to you
cause all
she’s done
is made
me blue
and what
oh what if
time doesn’t
do what it’s
supposed to do
lately feels
like forever
days made
of yarn
and straw
papercuts and
unmade promises
every single flaw
all the awful
dismantling
I can’t take
looking up
at me from
the bottom of
the lake
—WHAT IF TIME DOESN’T DO WHAT IT’S SUPPOSED TO DO?
prom
it’s prom night
and I’m lonely
trying to hug these stars
that don’t know me
wondering about Noelle
and who she’s holding
wrist-corsaged
always tops always golden
I miss her honeysuckle scent
forefinger twirling hair
not that she’s ever noticed
or should need to care
it’s prom night and Mom’s
screaming at the Antichrist again
Sis ain’t talking and
brother’s stuck in ‘Nam
I can’t stop dreaming
that The Dipper knows my name
from here the sky looks bruised
or maybe I mean maimed
it’s prom night
the rental tux is baby blue
trimmed in bold navy
tried it on fourteen times
cried each time such a baby
wrote a poem or
something else
read it out loud to the
bottom shelf
it’s prom night
and I’m growing smaller
though the mirror smirks
and tells me I’m taller
--I WROTE THAT FOR YOU, NOT FOR ME
Sweet 16 in North Dakota
six speeds
on my bike
but I’m stuck
in this camper
butcher knife
beneath the blanket
hair’s too long
feathered like
a f(……) f(..)
they say
puka shells
strangling me like
a bleached rag
f(……) A
gotta run from
the cowboys
they beat the shit
out of gay boys
like me
the only thing
more blue
is wondering why
I’m alive when
I don’t wanna be
saw a triple feature
blonde chick
jumped me
back seat
bra off
hands-free
thought I didn’t
need her
thought I’d
be true
wrote a suicide
note to
my older self
tried to express
some sense of hope
but instead took
my first toke
figured if it
was meant to be
I’d make it
past sixteen
and meet you
on the other side
so where are
you hiding
—NOVEMBER MADE ME CRY, DECEMBER MADE ME SHY
dolphin play
let’s (.…)
under a
waterfall
your skin
slick and
puckered
ready for
the next volt
or crush
I’ll shout
I love you’s
through the roar
while you
tell me to
(….) off again
no need to fight
for a frequency
or court anything
but intimacy
the waves are
going to lull us
salt intake’s going
to swell us
might stay here
til ’21
bury my face
in your chest
like you’re
the only one
(you are)
I’ll braid
your hair
with seaweed
while you steal
my breath
and sole need
let’s catch
this dolphin
see where
it takes us
he’s giggling
so hard
little guy
must have
read my mind
