Tag Archives: poetry

The Look of Arousal

December 28, 2014 Thomas Leave a comment

That look in your eyes was not sexual. Not exactly. This was before I knew a man could be aroused by the cascade of destruction that he set into motion, simply to punish me for some wrong i will never understand, because it is too complex or too subtle or too specific to your past and your way of thinking. And I didn’t see it coming.

I had met your hardness, before. Sought it, welcomed it, craved it, asked for it, thanked it, and asked for it, again. There were times I thought it was my greatest gift, that it owned me, or times that I thought that i owned it. But never before had it spoken with such power and certainty and disregard and sheer aggression. Never before had it sought to make me sorry or to make me afraid or to make me cry or to make me nothing. I did not know there could be so much energy in that particular act, in that assault with a friendly weapon. That arousal in you so potent, frightening. Sexual and yet something else entirely.

I will never forget that look in your eyes. Still, I search every lover’s eyes for a hint of that shadow, afraid of what it might mean. And I always find it. Even when it is not there.

Drunk Texting

December 25, 2014 Thomas Leave a comment

Yeah, I know. I drunk texted you every couple weeks, since that day 6 years ago. The words made no sense to me when I sobered up, but that didn’t last long. I know I pocket dialed you, at least a dozen times, because yours is the only number on my favorites list, and sometimes I look at your picture and I read the address, and think of better days.
Always, you have the grace to ignore them. Always, you have the sense not to reply.

But now the world is drunk texting me, and I don’t understand. Crazy messages that make no sense. A lead rainstorm in her gymnasium. A hidden fortress in a home room coat closet. Counting children from too many to too many more.

Please. This one time. Please respond and tell me that someday, she will grow up to ignore my messages, too. Tell me she will grow up at all.

The End of the Hallway

December 24, 2014 Thomas Leave a comment

It’s amazing how long that hallway is. A long hall papered with bad dreams. It takes a long time to go down it, before I am confronted with that door, waiting at the end. And how frightening to know what is on the other side of that door: is it the light we sought? The darkness, and eternal fire that we’ve been warned of? Or is it another hallway, a long and tedious walk, with those same dreams haunting me?

When I last met that door, I stood in front of it for several days. It’s like it was calling me to experience it. The few times I touched the knob, it was painfully cold. But something inside called anyway, “open it”. But I didn’t.

Certainly, what stopped me was the fear that it was another hallway, that hell doesn’t end here. Because even the darkness seemed to be a good alternative to this dream world.

Other friends have shared that hall. Sometimes, we walked down it, together, so that one of us could pull the other back, away from the door. Late nights sitting beside him, telling him “no.” “Stay.” “It’s okay.” We had a phone tree, we did shifts, we made calls, we held hands. But those were the ones who chose to ask. Those were the ones who were able to ask.

For them, this life seemed something to save, not simply to end. People always discuss whether this is an act of bravery, or of cowardice. But it is neither, because it is an inevitability. It is a force stronger than our own will. And when it is time, the intervention must come from outside, because inside there is only emptiness.

To sleep, perchance to dream. And in that sleep of death, what dreams may end? If those prayers are answered, all of those dreams will end.

Metal

December 24, 2014 Thomas Leave a comment

Rose petals bloomed along the thin straight line on my inner thigh, where no one could see. The thorn that drew them was taken from my father’s medicine cabinet, by a hand that never yet had to hold one to my face.

I love the metal. I love the fineness of the grind, the glint of the edge, the coolness of the steel. And it was a double bond. That edge helped reconnect me to a body that my mind wanted to escape. Each crimson petal a chance to feel, again. The steel converting emptiness into somethingness. Pain as a pathway to the corporeal

I met him at a party. His metal attracted me, made me want to be close to him. Septum, PA, nipples, fraenum and a few more, all perfectly placed. All making him seem powerful and free and beautiful.

He gently took me by the hand, down into the basement, and whispered, “I’d like you to feel something.” At first, it was the kiss of his leather on my back, and then, the feel of his hand making it hard for me to sit. And always, I would kiss his metal. And always, I would feel something more.

This time, he showed me his blade. So similar to the one I knew when I was younger, but this one was in his hand, and that I trusted completely. This time, the straight lines bloomed with rubies. Precious gems that would never wilt. And he drew them out with a gentle but commanding hand. In that passionate moment, he repaired the damage I had done before. I was reconnected the way I never thought I could be. As he finished placing his mark, he put his metal on my lips, and, in gratitude, I mixed the rubies with pearls.

The Transcendental Transaction of Touch

December 21, 2014 Thomas Leave a comment

Please. There is an emptiness, that can only be filled by the texture of skin, and the thrum of circulation, and a warmth that is not my own.
Yes. Here I am, not with an emptiness, but an openness to meet you where you are, and to share in your hunger.

Please. The last time? I cannot account. Fluids were exchanged, but hearts were not.
No. This is not how I think about us. That is not what we are to each other.

Please. But last night, you…
Alright. yeah. ok..

Please. It aches, inside, where you are not.
Maybe. Let’s see how good you can be.

Please. Even in the lights and noise of the city, it is too dark and quiet, here, alone.
Let’s talk. How much do you have to spend?

Please. We never do, anymore.
Not now, I’m tired.

Please. You are so beautiufl.
Yes. I love you.

Please. I am lonely.
No. Loneliness looks bad on you.

Please. You are so good at it.
No. You are not.

Please.
Yes.

Thank you.
Our pleasure, shared.

Timepiece

December 19, 2014 Thomas Leave a comment

I love the clock in the mantel of your breast. It ticks with an organic precision, which is not precise at all. Time flies in moments of anger and excitement, but when you are content and at peace, the flow moves slowly. I love the ticking of this instrument, and I know it well.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

My days are measured by 1000 clocks. I hear the clicking of their mechanism, occasionally the whoosh of their gears, and sometimes the sweep of their second hand, as it counts down to nothing. Some, I have heard race too fast to count, as their first seconds of life begin. Some, I was the last, ever, to hear. Some, I knew, would not take long to end, as the rhythm became broken. It is the measure of their lives.

Tick tock. Tick tick tick tock.

But yours is the measure of my life. The joy, the wonder, the peace, the fear, the love. With every tick, our life is built. Each tock, our love grows to entwine us. In every hour and every precious second, it is the rhythm of our dance, the meter for the orchestra of our experiences and our plans. It is the metronome for the student, humbled in how much he has to learn, yet excited for the beauty that is now open to him.

Tick tick tock tock.

If I could no longer hear that sound, then time will have run out, for me, too. For 20 years, 630 million seconds, I have lived to your rhythm, danced to your meter, sang the song of your prosody, and I pray to run out of numbers before I stop counting its precious beat.

five weeks of walking to his place

December 18, 2014 Thomas Leave a comment

He he lived in that yellow apartment house just between the liquor store and Get the hell off my property Lady.

Week 1: it was a left, a right and a left. There were a few shops and houses that I had never noticed. A newly painted grand Victorian, fronted by a garden newly cleared with some small plantings just getting started. As I crossed the street toward the house on the corner, I could hear Get the hell off my property Lady yelling at some kids in the side yard. My palms were sweating. I made it to the front step in 23 minutes.

Week 2: beautiful day. On the quiet part of the second street, there is a small craftsman, with a porch draped in ivy. The porch swing was still gently rocking, with two steaming cups of coffee and the half finished crossword on the table in front. I glanced up, just to see the bedroom curtains drawn. My hands were fidgety. I got to the front step in 21 minutes.

Week 3: the out of place cape, across the street from the Victorian, has some balloons and a table just at the edge of the yard. One part of the table cloth says congratulations, Pat and Stoney. I cut through an alleyway. Get the hell off my property Lady was glaring at a couple of teens coming down the sidewalk. My hands were warm. I got to the front step in 23 minutes.

Week 4: in the alley shortcut, the lawn chair captain was finishing his fourth beer in the six pack. He was glaring at a cluster of sparrows on the guy wire to his house, as they fluttered over to a nearby tree. His BB-pistol next to him. They’re not the birds from the movie, you know. He said, “yeah, but they could always turn on ya without warning.” A car pulled away from the space right in front of the building just as I arrived. I stopped off at the liquor store to get a nip. My hands were shaking. I made it to the front step in 24 minutes.

Week five: the garden in front of the Victorian was cleared again, just after it finished blooming, like it only had a short purpose, and then was discarded. New starts of different plants are already sprouting. That car was parked in front of the building, but no one came to claim it. I ducked into the liquor store for 2 nips. They burned going down. I went around the block, again. My fists were tight. I made it to the front step in 32 minutes.

I waited 12 minutes, but there was no answer. As I started to walk back home, I heard a voice. “cheer up, young man.” It was Get the hell off my property Lady. The flower she held out was just past its prime. “here, it’s from my garden.”

Hospital corners

December 17, 2014 Thomas Leave a comment

Hospital corners still in his nightmares.
Crisp white sheets folded with precision.
scent of sanitizer.
Single flower petal, under the table.
Card that says “I love you”, stranded on the top shelf of the closet.
He remembers the empty room, that was once so crowded with family and tears and prayers.

But now it is not empty.
Someone new.
No family.
No tears.
Torn coat.
Detox.
Hospital corners, now a respite from the cold rain.
A safe place for tonight.

And he doesn’t think to say another prayer.

Winter scene with dragon

December 15, 2014 Thomas Leave a comment

A winter trek up rocks and hills, the crystal trees were calling
The ice and snow and chilly breeze brought hemlock needles falling
But after going round the plot. our energy was flagging,
We happened on a chilly copse, well guarded by a dragon.

Those of his kind stay very still, guard all within their realm
Ensuring all the woodland creatures safe, while at the helm.
We circumnavigated on the ledge above his fields,
And watched him from a distance, safe, our walking sticks were shields

But as the sun began to sink to just behind his shoulder,
there I saw, within his eyes, that he was getting bolder.
A glow of gold, a flash of red, he seemed to gather fire,
but then, he simply smiled gentle warmth upon his shire.

I’m sure that he caught sight of us, and knew we weren’t a threat.
So he went back to silent sleep, the sun began to set.
So on we went, down icy cliffs, our footing not quite sure,
And while he dreamt of fiery days, his charges sleep secure

The physics of us

December 1, 2014 Thomas Leave a comment

I believe in the three laws. You can’t win, you can’t break even, you can’t get out of the game.
1) Love is neither created nor destroyed, just changed form, or moved from one place to another. 2) The net insanity of the universe is alway increasing. 3) And you can never achieve what you truly want in a finite number of steps (also known as ‘ever’).

I was on my own eccentric orbit spending short, warm times in the company of others. Then drifting off to my own, well proscribed course. Those with years of observation could predict my return, but most didn’t bother.

We joined by Diffusion limited aggregation, that same mechanism that forms dust bunnies. Brownian motion, or the random walk, brought us together as we happened to be in the same place at the same time: that party at the Martin-Colson’s. You stuck to my most outreaching surface, and I to yours. We were held together my some electrostatic attraction, but mostly by the reduction in entropy of our whole lives and when delta S is less than zero, that’s something I hold onto.

For months, we were a canonical ensemble. Not doing exactly the same things, but in the aggregate, our lives behaved like a relationship. We responded to friends and changes in the environment as if we were truly together and one complete system. Those who understand us well, could predict us both, but not each. We wanted to get there, but never quite could.

Nova didn’t take long to happen. The accretion disc of your hobbies and needs and friends and family and habits and quirks, constantly poured onto my surface, heating me up. Only to finally ignite in a stellar fire. Not the warmth of the hydrogen helium cycle, but the bitter, rapid, ashy fire of the CNO. The explosion was dramatic and could be seen from great distances. I blew off all the outer surface – you, friends, job, family. And when the tempest cooled, I was denser, a little colder, and returned to my eccentric orbit.

Since love is neither created nor destroyed, you found your other, and your new passion is exothermic, radiating heat to the stars. And I, alone, balance the equation.

Bob and Thomas