Drunken ramblings and scribbles
and truth and everything
and don’t hit enter just keep going
and lose your place and find it again
and it wasn’t your place it was someone else’s
and whose was it and where was it
and I wasn’t blind it just didn’t see it
in time the leaks the steam dripping down the walls
soaking the beams the mold the splintering
the crumbling framework the old lines
the false expressions and where is it
where is that truth where is the feeling
in the work
find it
I am this dark and dreary
and gloomy and brooding
and thesaurus but nothing new is being said
like reading sixteen year old journals
women and wining and the same
over and over and over again
and falsely aloof observations
that I rue and are embarrassing
and no one ever saw
but I internalized their
falseness and fine
and falseness and fine
and breath
and falseness and fine
and breath and falseness
and fine and breath
and thickness and falseness
and thickness and falseness
and weightless and I have no weight
I am light not strong
where is my strength
every sinew pulls
and nothing moves
and there is no truth only beauty
I cannot see feel or touch
until someone else sees it in me
and ego and loss and false loss
and invented and longed for
and devouring and longing
to be eaten whole or hit by a train
of clip it and fall and crush and death
and then they eat me and have a congress
a conspiracy a loss mad ramblings
and truth and cemeteries and vines
and rowan and ivy and lunar calendars
and rain and rain and rain
and rain and greyness
and I thought I wouldn’t
be able to do this here
but apparently I was mistaken
the sun left and the gloom followed
in my overhead storage compartment
sorted and compiled and complete
while my soul and things
and meaning were left behind.
Sobering up must take more
push save keep drawing.
It’s only midnight
and I’m not a grown-up yet
and who gives a fuck
I’m an artist I’ll draw
and produce
and be happy no matter when I wake up
but I’ll brood because after it’s done
I’ll think I made something different than what it is
like that poem that made marie uncomfortable
and the better ones she wrote about us
and I should tell her that
that she writes poems better than me
and that she says
what I mean
about us more and better than I can say it
and that kind of hurts
but I’m reluctant to write the word
but the word that I’m reluctant to write
makes me inarticulate and sticks me and kills me
and devours me whole
and changes me and chemicals in the brain and the other person
and the loss and the pain
and the cost and the move
and the burn and the burn
and the burn and the smoke
and the smoke and the smoke
shit I can’t breathe
and break and breathe
and break and bath in the soot
and blood like paint and charcoal
and vine and willow and rowan
and truth and beauty
and the stars said it wasn’t to be
and she knew it and I knew it
and we denied it
try to fuck with the stars
I dare you
you will get schooled
and proper fucked
and the stars the stars
the smoke the breath
the trees the night
the love the truth
the words the words
the words the beer the bear
bear the cost of love
of truth of words
of darkness of night
of birds and brides
and words and smoke and breath
and soot and smoke and breath
and soot and ash and trust
and trust and trust and breath
and smoke and soot and ash
and truth and it smells like fire
after a rainy night.
