Old Man

I'm already an old man
nobody cares what an old man has to say
even if he walked 10 miles in the snow
uphill
both ways

cocoon

cocooned in your arms,
a chrysalis of human skin
pulsing like a distant drum
warm and full
humid like the Amazon
sleepless in wonder
sleepless under cover next to lover
discovering

digitized.

Photo by Carrie Thomas

The girl next to me on the train was bobbing her head back and forth, madly, almost ritualistically. The sound of the overcompressed over digitized music with its sterile sound devoid of human warmth and emotion filled the air, reflecting off her damaged eardrums. She's a maneater, whoa oh. If I can hear every word of your music, my dear, then you will soon not hear music at all. I look at the eyes of the passersby.

Your pulse is digitized.
You're plugged in to the circuitry.
You don't even realize you're plugged in to the circuitry.
gotta get out
gotta get out
gotta get
gotta get get get get get get get
Lord bless my soul. I'm going home.

The doors to the train open. the people pour out onto the platform like a dam has burst. They flow up the stairs like gravity defying water. There's a rock in the stream a woman suddenly loses the ability to move, paralyzed by the need to send a text message, oblivious to the existence of anyone else. The water diverts its course and flows around the rock.

Her pulse is digitized. She's plugged in to the circuitry.

Ceiling

Show me a picture of the ceiling in your old apartment.
I have hidden memories there.

Empty Hands

You drink too much
I know because I do too
I recognize the bleary eyes that belong to you.
you resent the forgetting
blaming me for pointing out the points that were upsetting
when you howl at the sky
when the dark side rises out of your skin
again and again
like clockwork
a knee jerk reaction to something deep within your bones
something still unknown but always there, staring me in the face.
I am standing farther away, trying to keep the demons at bay
but missing the person that they inhabit.
trying to explain, but you won't have it.
your ears are filled with sand.
your heart is torn in strands.
your plate is full
but empty hands

To pull you from the flames

To pull you from the flames of love gone wrong
would take a giant and I am not that strong.
you wipe your lips
they smell of kerosine and feed the flames
for only you unseen.

Perfection, not a virtue I would fit
to ask of you would I turn hypocrite?
I stand aside and watch the clouds of smoke
I offer water and but still you choose to choke.