aayoungmy fears are hidden at home in my onion knife
as I drink coffee that tastes like David Mamet
left it standing
downtown on a Tuesday morning
during a plague
somehow that proves
there are things I don’t regret
while we pretend to have enough choices left
the way a crumbling sidewalk shows us
dandelions will continue to grow
on the strength of their convictions
more painful
than losing the baby
was watching you cry
and
me remembering
the November
your sweet excuse
for everything was,
“Hey, I’ve got a pregnant wife at home…”
every night you were away
i sought you out
through blackberry bramble ether
from weeping constellations above dixmyth avenue
to jessamine county barns filled with horse hay
perpetually wrapping blue ribbon around my finger
whispering vespers
my plea to the particles of the universe
to hold you together
to bring you back from oblivion
as you had done for me
you are my chosen family
inextricably part
of my thunderous heart
to which you will always hold the latchkey
Back in 2012, when I had my first book release in Los Angeles, I had a crystal beaded necklace that pulled apart in my suitcase. It seemed wrong to rid myself of the estranged gems, and I harboured unlikely notions of restringing the beloved bauble one day. As I was packing to leave, some of the beads accidentally rolled under my voluptuous bed in The Biltmore Hotel. I suspect they may still be there, as things seem not to change much there, except the sheets, and I liked the notion of leaving a part of myself behind in the City of Angels.
The beads remained in my suitcase as I drove and flew to poetry gigs all over the country for the next few years. In keeping with the precedent set in Los Angeles, I started purposefully dropping them in places I stayed. I would toss the pea-sized stones into locations they were unlikely to be found: down antique brass filigree air vents in byzantine hotels, behind cabinetry permanently affixed, through imperfectly sawed holes cut for plumbing to climb and dive through plaster, beneath the loose floorboards of my friend’s apartment, into the chasms of airport elevator shafts. You get the idea.
There are pieces of my secret crystal beaded necklace hidden in Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, Redondo Beach, Berkeley, Venice Beach, San Francisco, Oakland, Salt Lake City, Chicago, Cleveland, New York City, Elyria, Canton, Nashville, Lexington, Dallas, Cincinnati, and even pitiful Little Rock, Arkansas, a place I didn’t care for at all. I consider them amulets to protect people and cities with whom I fell in love, and talismans to keep away those whom I didn’t. The faceted baubles keep me tethered, connected through minutiae, in the smallest of ways.
More beads remain in my suitcase to this day, an impossible amount hidden within the satin folds, certainly a greater number than my finite crystal necklace was ever originally composed of. It is as if the universe is telling me that I have more journeys to take, love to make, and fine people to meet. So, if you’re staying in a heat wilted hotel by the Pacific Ocean, enduring a vaulted matchbox overlooking the Hudson River, standing by a tuneless luggage carousel, or renting a beautiful two bedroom flat nestled near Lake Erie, and a magical crystal bead finds you, that’s just me…and I’ll be seeing you.
My poetry is irreverent, prone to sentimentality, and prurient behavior.
My poetry hates your mother.
My poetry worships humanity.
My poetry stuck a finger in your wedding cake.
My poetry made a blonde girl cry in Starbucks.
My poetry wants to overthrow the government.
My poetry misses her father.
My poetry screwed your sister in the back of a Chevrolet.
My poetry can’t sing, but she can dance, baby.
My poetry took a shit in your designer handbag.
My poetry is piss shiver art.
My poetry laughs too loudly.
My poetry thinks god has run out of excuses.
My poetry weeps for the dying world.
But mostly,
My poetry hopes
you’re enjoying the ride.
while we were together
by the ocean
i was certain
i could smell a trace
of mountains burning
in the distance
redwood crackle
pine sap boiling
wide eyed coyotes running
our future reduced
to ashes and hemoglobin
i was not mistaken
darling
the longer we live
we learn that reality
is volatile
changeable
an inconstant lover
ah, but…
what would have been…
what amounts to regret
what amounts to loss
is god damned indestructible
iron ore into steel
& then forever
i would like to believe
there is a heaven
where every flower
withered on earth
blooms eternally
i would like to believe
there is a heaven
for loves that were
never to be
a heaven
for all dreams
that would have been
beautiful
when
i’m with him
all my stars are out
