Naked Poetry

Grew up in a family town. I remember collecting basketball cards, not that I knew anything about it. I just liked the sound of the word “collection”. Then I tried Pokemon for a while. Then Pog. Remember that game? I liked it because it made me feel like I was one of the older kids. I also felt like I left the world every time I played. I still remember holding the pieces. They felt so perfect in my hands. They reminded me of UFOs and perhaps that’s why it always felt so otherworldly. It was not until later that I found out collecting is not necessary and that it is possible to love just one thing. This was right about the time I learned that a noun was a person, place, or thing. So I changed my mind about loving, and decided it was possible to love a noun so much you don’t want another. And I called it the end of worry.

Strangely great mood today.

Was it yesterday’s coffee

or a 3 mile talk around

fine lines and a boat,

lip red but missing a sail.

Maybe it was because I

Laughed with someone

I got pulled out of

a practice room after

six hours of Puccini.

“You can come back to this later,” She says.

It was a perfect walk.

We said things we’d never

say had it not been

for that lake.

“A boat is a boat is

a boat is a boat. Are we boats?

We float. We sink. We have motors.

What’s the difference?” I say.

We kept laughing and rising

and spoke louder than architecture

which was like catching the number 22.

because we are the quietest people I know.

Son,

I’ve seen it all.

Cigarette stalls

and bombed Barbie dolls

orange shoes with

orange laces

I’ve seen it all

At one time it was deadly

To look someone in the eyes

Still is

in some places

They let joy marry tragedy.

O yes I’ve seen it

All at

once

I started taking smiles seriously

My life began.

So please, my love, I’m going to ask

you once more to move the camera from in front of

your face

I want to be able to say

That I’ve seen it all.

Meet me at the top of the mountains so we can scream like the lunatics that we are. After that we can talk poker–and even out all our dreams. We’ll buy a boat and carve poems into the ocean til our blood turns blue. Without you, I would’ve never known of my urgency. Without you, I would’ve never found so much beauty. Without you, I’d still be so sad.

Do you know how many words you are?!

One hundred and seven poems and counting. The other day at the bar we talked about what we would do if one of us died.

If you died—————————

Id be in the hospital–because I screamed so long and loud past the sky that I passed out on the way. When I woke up and I asked what happened they would tell me the truth– that the love in my life had died. My knees would be red and raw because of the way I’d be weeping– I’d keep collapsing, and collapsing, and collapsing, and collapsing, and collapsing, and collapsing

it has been 23 years and I am still searching stone for rock. (this is body language for "need to love") Before I made it through one year of breathing-- I spilled paint on the front of my body that said, "Next On the Cross" 

 

You know, I like tea. But I don't need it all over me. That's the difference between you and tea.

So I told the angels I’m not coming back

And they gave me two more bodies.

And that’s how I became three people.

We have identical staircases, my bodies.

And it is wonderful to know that

You think I’m perfect

And it is wonderful to know that

You think I’m beauty

You think I’m talent

Baby give me your blue print

So I can build you back up

Again I never want to see his chemicals

In your eyes again

I want to see you love free

Just let me get my angels

Just let me go just let me go just let me go

Your kiss is too perfect

Your kiss is too perfect

I stumble out of cars now,

Can hardly touch my lips now,

Hey, you left your electricity

Hey, you let your light out

It’s all over me.

I can see everything now in Actually.

And you know actually, you’ve touched actually.

Yes I know the valley aches

Easy.

I don’t know you might be right

Now I know the texture of your heart.

No wonder it loves forever.

How would I know how the so

I wish I could speak to you

in chemical words.

Secretive.

Our chemical lexicon would be

harmonious! Downright wholesome,

and lovely.

It would be beyond

breathable! Inescapable!

Unmistakeable!

To us,

to us.

Your eyes surround me like light not yet lifted out of me.

the kind that passes me. You become a star every morning at 2.30 AM.

I have not seen it but you burn me whole again.

We're gonna pick a splendid fight in Thailand, you and I. It may be a stalemate 

And I may look like a faded flag for you but I'm looking at your face now - not 

one line on it. You must slumber so well. Teach me how you do that.

Teach me how you say that. I will dream with you.

The next day I found myself in the middle of 90 degrees, the Texas kind.

Across from what I think was an eighty maybe ninety year old woman. I know

I was supposed to know her but I didn't…who could blame me? I am only twenty

years old. Sixty years have not followed me yet so I don't understand the things

that fall from her closed mouth. All I want to do it ask her if she knew that  her eyes

were pure violet… Peculiar violet… especially with original skin like that. I wonder if

she knew. I wanted to talk to you

Feathered muscle. Ever seen it? All I will say is it’ll make you second guess what you did with YOUR day. Because you know--the only way to achieve this on a human body is if the person who possesses the feathering of the muscles has successfully mastered their body.

The feathering of the muscle can only happen with extreme conditioning.

Day

After

Day

After

Day

After

Day

After night

After night after

Night after day.

Hours and thousands of fights and conquests and conquistatadors! Fight those awful demons aren’t you mad you never fought your own demons? Let’s get it done! And the short-full of life. The first time I saw it I almost cried. They looked like wings in his back.

I just wanted something equally as present to present to my world. Something to signify my dedication.

So I kept on running. Dreaming of the people bounded up by hatred and bitterness and how caged they must feel, how imprisoned-- but they’d never admit it. And I thought

I’m not depressed right now, I’m actually in really great spirits but it’s very frustrating when I’m in a conversation with somebody that doesn’t believe in depression or thinks it’s a weakness or feigned sickness. This is my attempt at explaining how depression feels... _____________________________You’d be amazed at how many buildings I

fell off today,

how many grounds I almost grabbed

how many times I almost made myself the candle

the melted

the inevitable collapse that follows

a successful run.

another thing I cannot celebrate

it hurts to be standing–

even worse laying down

it’s like I’m being force-fed

my own heartbeat

I don’t like it.

I don’t like it.

You’d be amazed

by my brain…

how it tells me to leave

no directions

just——

leave.