You do lose what you don't hold.

Thu, 26 Mar 2009 23:13:37 GMT

Maybe next time when I see your face again, I will tell you that I loved you. And if this is to be the end, well, hey. That's it.

We have tasted life, we have taken all. With a big breath out and a big breath in. We sang la, la, la.

And if it seems that I've been a little down, I will blame it on the fact that you ain't been coming around.
I heard nothing gold will stay.

Well, hey.
That's it.

You were the gentlest gentleman.

La, La, La.

'Til the glowing begins.

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 06:23:17 GMT

I will recover my sense of grace and rediscover my rightful place.
Yes, and cover my face with the morning.

In the darkness, after the cocaine lights,
I will miss you more than ever.

Sun, 25 Jan 2009 05:25:26 GMT

It has been forever since I've felt like I've known you. Since I have felt clean, like bright morning light on my face. I haven't been hungry in days, it's as if my stomach is directly connected to the vividness of my memory. If I can still feel your chest, so warm, pressed against my throat, I'm heaping my plate with seconds. Most days, your face is forgotten in folds of my eyelids, lost and swimming there.

But I woke up this mid-morning with feeling. With cold, cold hands. With small, white flowers on my lips.

Sun, 18 Jan 2009 01:56:24 GMT

My history papers are all really about you. I miss when my bruises came so easily. I said yes, that time, when you asked me. My dreams are always so bare but I tried so hard, you know. It has been years and finally I love you.
I guess.

Sun, 14 Dec 2008 05:29:44 GMT

Remember when we saw that boy, sitting outside, his palms pressed against his eyes, sitting up too straight for someone so wretched? Remember? He said, I needed that money. For the kids, to heat the house, the needle drugs.

All his dreams are dry, now. He is just the strange sound that turned-off radios make. He is holding out, I swear. I didn't even care about it. But you did, sure you did.

This one goes out to you. Yes, you there. Yes, I'll buy you another drink.

ME.

Mon, 08 Dec 2008 23:47:33 GMT

I went to a cobbler to fix a hole in my shoe. He took one look at my face and said, "I can fix that hole in you."

"I beg your pardon, I'm not looking for a cure. I've seen enough of my friends in the depths of the godsick blues."

You know I am a liar.
And nobody helps a liar.
And you don't know what I've done.

Sat, 15 Nov 2008 04:06:17 GMT

Believe it.

Sun, 23 Mar 2008 23:44:40 GMT

My Grandfather died, on my mom's birthday. I already miss him.

And so-

All the black days, unleashed by the rain, collapse into sunny defeat. We live in a house with the roof lifted out, impossible blue while we sleep. Ready yourself, extinguish your doubts, the hour of your strength is nearing.

And God will take care of us...at least some of us. At least those of us that He wants, and disappear from most of us, keep clear from most of us.

Besides those of us that He haunts.

You do.

Tue, 29 Jan 2008 22:38:00 GMT

You were balancing the leaves on a backyard tree, leaning over the railing you're standing on. All the blood that has gone to your head disagrees with the bricks that it's spilling on. You awaken to words, not ready to hear:

"The dog's put to sleep. Your brother no longer lives here. But Thanksgiving is coming, and you have such a wonderful scar, dear."

When you were jumping out of your sensitive skin for seventeen years, shivering- lonely, everyday. From the workshops and fig trees and fingers gone missing, secrectly strange. Your balance has vanished.

"While you were unconcious, the quiet ones crowded the stage."

When you were choking on fire, your breathing gone south, in front of your friend's house, too late. All the ashes are flying beside her tonight, uncovering everything. All the sickness built up in your body is over, so final and suddenly. Tunnels of light come alive while putting your life to sleep.

You awaken to words, not ready to hear, unrecognizable, perfectly clear:

"But Thanksgiving is coming, and you have such a wonderful scar, dear."

Mon, 17 Sep 2007 02:00:26 GMT

But I'll fight off the spring; I don't want lovely things,

I don't want the earth new.

Thu, 30 Aug 2007 02:30:22 GMT

A fleeting moment, a few months ago, a boy rode past me on a clanking bicycle. How I wished to know him. It reminded me how that noise hinted that he was the most perfect, lovley boy, in the most undetectable way. And how every minute that passed was that noise getting fainter, his clanking bicycle and him and i and our love falling out of range, away, until it was like before i had ever heard that bright sound. It left the ugliest sort of feeling.

And still, after knowing all that, everything stayed intangible.

I think i'd like to believe in real life, from now on.
I could stop thinking of life as seemingly beautiful.
Big fucking mess.

Wed, 18 Jul 2007 01:53:57 GMT

Will you miss me when I burn?
And will you close the others' eyes, it would be such a favor if you would blind them.

When you have no one, no one can hurt you.

Yes, but this ACTUALLY happened, you see.

Thu, 14 Jun 2007 04:55:14 GMT

This is true, every last word.

I was pulled by my hands into a parking-lot alley
laying on the pavement, not cold, but actually perfectly warm.
waiting for you to walk back,
and remember what you used to think you felt.
(But different from the you that laid me out on the ground)
Kissed my head, moistened my guilt.

And remember, I drove you three streets over,
that was where you asked if I'd sleep in your bed.

And the gang was waiting on the porch with beers in boxes,

but my mother saved my marriage with a home-made pizza.

Mon, 04 Jun 2007 03:38:25 GMT

I have imagined cries for beauty,
but now I've only got a rattling in my lungs.

Tue, 19 Dec 2006 09:15:14 GMT

Things that are going on, right NOW:

This apartment is so messy, but it's much too cold to get up to clean it.
So, so many cigarettes.
Portland?
A little bit lonely.

Mostly, though:

My lap steel came today, today, today!

I'll be the saddest folk singer you've ever heard.

Mon, 11 Sep 2006 07:19:03 GMT

Fri, 11 Aug 2006 08:44:35 GMT

I've started to hate myself for all the blue skies that I just walk under,

they never even graze my eyes.

I will be all right.?

Thu, 03 Aug 2006 05:27:28 GMT

This is the old camera that you've found
in your dead grandmother's drawer:

old all over, but you just use it
for documentation.

Now, look at me.
All the salt of every sea is pouring down my cheeks,
standing in your dad's half-light house.

You raise it up,
the lens so sorry,
and the eyes so unapologetic,
you snap my picture.

"Goddamn."

Blonde hair, I guess.

Fri, 28 Jul 2006 10:03:19 GMT

Can't say why I kept this from you.
My, those quiet eyes become you.

Oh, well, I know.

I'd like to tell you all about it.

Sun, 23 Jul 2006 11:34:19 GMT

They've disappeared like the troubadours,
they're not coming back.
We really knew how to have some fun,

before my parents got divorced.

Thu, 20 Jul 2006 00:36:00 GMT

Hope isn't a word,
And what do you care?

I'll take the pictures if you stay in bed.

Sat, 15 Jul 2006 08:12:30 GMT

I tell you, "my heart hurts." You say,
"it must be from those one, two packs a day."
I'm saying now, "I think you were wrong."

Then, up in my room, we're staring over the neighbor's fence,
and the rising sunlight, the kind that you said you hate,
and then we're staring back down at the dirty glass.
It wasn't meant for us, but we've taken it, anyway.

You always say that it's "a glass of water on hot days",
or "the love you never knew while you were here",
or "maybe not", you say,
"but I know it's like how you felt before all the white lines."
"That's fine," I say,
"But when the x's are over your eyes, can you be so sure?"

I say, "In my dreams, when I die,
it's always just you, in my room,
saying, 'But I didn't know we weren't infinite?' "

Wed, 28 Jun 2006 06:32:48 GMT

Oh, the glory when He took our place,
But He took my shoulders and He shook my face.

And He takes and He takes and He takes.

Thu, 22 Jun 2006 06:25:06 GMT

" This is real life, and I want you to come back. "

You said that. You, the Queen of Bones.
Bones pointing, pricking through your skin.
Well, everyone has bones, so you're no queen.
Everyone here agrees.

But you paint your sovereignty all over your face,
black for your eyes, and red on the lips.
Do you think it makes up for how old you've become?
It doesn't.

Queen of Bones, don't look so sad
when you clang, clatter down from your throne so far up there.
(Oh, how high it has become.)
We've been ready at the bottom,
posed to kiss your feet,
and we can catch you when you tumble, tumble down.
We've been waiting so long for you to fill our arms.

Fri, 02 Jun 2006 09:29:54 GMT

You tasted like communion?