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Kismit
Every word spoken correctly.
Every punchline lands perfectly.
Every second of eye-contact promises deeper.
Every hand-holding squeezing tighter.
The first kiss.
The taste of skin.
Fluid.
Beauty everlasting. -
"Find what you love and let it kill you."
- Charles Bukowski -
A long brown hair
Sometimes the strangeness
of my dreams
brings me to wake
long enough to reach out for you in the cold section of the bed,
but there’s nothing. You’re a sub-thought
a ghostly impression of a face behind a silk curtain
fading like the night fades into
another day.
Sometimes, as I’m working,
I reinvent the pain
where her hesitation and greed
ruined a chance for miracles—
now we run away like bandits to a waterfall in a verdant wood
and you cling to me like a child
cling to me for if our hearts weren’t this close
we might freeze to death.
Mostly, I live by the pool
and let the sun’s heat be my only clothing.
I still remember that one afternoon
we brought down the turntable and let
Brahms float through the wet air.
You were the first to get hot
and took a dip
and I sat up and watched you glide under water
slowly you climbed up those steps broad flat steps
like Colossus emerging from the ocean
your tan breasts glistening with desire.
Then I got hot.
You walked over so confidently with eyes
and parted lips
seduction.
You stepped over me and I was inside you
and lost in the smell the sun tan lotion
and sweat
our skin young and our muscles
tight.
You grabbed my ribs so tightly
and gasped silently
as we came with fury.
Now
I smell sun tan lotion and get aroused
then my heart
falls
into my stomach
and a cool breeze brings shivers.
Summer won’t last
and soon fall will pull me under—
the only warmth coming from
memories and fiction.
My whole life
is
memories and fiction. -
Occasionally,
something will happen
that puts everything in perspective
and reminds you what’s really important in life.
At times like these it’s important to
go to those you love or loved
and tell them:
Life is precious.
Life is short.
The only thing that matters is love.
I love you.Love without apology.
Love without fear.
Love when there’s nothing.
Just love. Forever.I love you all. All who have touched my heart. All who have been there for me when I’ve been a shit. All hat I’ve wronged. And all who’ve wronged me.
I love you. I will always love you.
I’m here now. Don’t wait. Please god don’t wait.
One life. Just one. Gone in a blink. Love. Just love.
Don’t be alone unless you have to. Don’t waste time.
Heart.
-
Jane Awake
Jane Awake
The opals hiding your lids
as you sleep, as you ride ponies
mysteriously, spring to bloom
like the blue flowers of autumn
each nine o’clock. And curls
tumble languorously towards
the yawning rubber band, tan,
your hand pressing all that
riotous black sleep into
the quiet form of daylight
and its sunny disregard for
the luminous volutions, oh!
and the budding waltzes
we swoop through in nights.
Before dawn you roar with
your eyes shut, unsmiling,
your volcanic flesh hides
everything from the watchman,
and the tendrils of dreams
strangle policemen running by
too slowly to escape you,
the racing vertiginous waves
of your murmuring need. But
he is day’s guardian saint
that policeman, and leaning
from your open window you ask
him what to dress to wear and
to comb your hair modestly,
for that is now your mode.
Only by chance tripping on stairs
do you repeat the dance, and
then, in the perfect variety of
subdued, impeccably disguised,
white black pink blue saffron
and golden ambiance, do we find
the nightly savage, in a trance.—Frank O’Hara -
con•ster•na•tion |ˌkänstərˈnāSHən|
I’m saying this because it needs to be said
you need to hear it
understand it
and suffer for it
Nerd rage. Focus on the rage. I’m a big nerd. Measured not by character but by size. I’m an athlete. I work out six days-a-week. I drink hard and smoke more marijuana than most people. I show up at house parties where flaccid nerds timidly get too high. I laugh and chief a rillo. Cigarillo. Ask any gas station employee what they’re used for. I steal away upstairs and smoke then come back down and float around. I don’t get laid.
Flash forward.
Now, it’s 3:34 in the morning and I feel like shit and I’m in my driveway doing pushups in the warm night rain. I’d rather be cuddled up next to the impossible softness of feminine skin—having made her scream as she came with the thunder—she holds my hand and refuses to separate even if I turn over. I’d rather be here. I go here often. Instead my hands are pressing into the rough blacktop. Forty-five. My hear races. I stand up and feel my muscles surge and the blood pound through my head. I am strong. I could be stronger. I should be. But I think too much. I am weak. Down I go. Next set. I’ve been working out since I was thirteen. Scientifically improving my body. I am a nerd. A raging nerd.
Sometimes I scream. As loud as I can. Until my voice shatters and I have to spit. Sometimes my mind won’t stop racing and I can’t sleep and I stay up and shoot heart beams out into space—making connections—wondering when it will all make sense.
Flash forward. I’ve been there. I’ve done my homework. I’ve worked endlessly to make myself everything I should be. And women want money. Not art. Not beauty or a mind that has more than two gears. They want pop. Pop fashion. Haute bullshit. Ugly stupid nothingness. They want vapid conversation that sounds good and communicates nothing. The grass is always greener. It’s disgusting. It’s unforgivable.
All I see is answers. Stupid problems. One thousand answers. I’m not afraid to labor. You name it, I’ve done it and done it well. Speaking. Thinking. Acting. Creating. Fucking. I do it all. All. And I get no appreciation. Jesus, I’m fucking beautiful. Maybe I’ll post a picture of my abs. I stopped that shit in high school. Maybe that’s what women want.
Not equality. Not balance. They want to have their panties ripped off then be bent over a chair and fucked with their hands behind their back. Call me “Daddy.” Fuck.
“Watch your hands,” she says. You don’t like my touch? I don’t dress right? Jesus.
Flash Forward:
You are a bad person. You are a bad person. You are. A. Bad. Person. But you’re not alone. So many just like you. Wastes. Waste of life. We all got excuses. You’re not special. You’re ugly. Petty.
Much more to say. More pushups. More stick-my-dick-in-something-and-see-what-my-heart-does. New blood. How ironic.
Limitations of joy. Of inspiration. Of passion. Tired of this same game. Tired of shells walking about. Dug too deep. Eventually people end. Terrifying lesson to learn. They don’t keep sifting like you, they stop, and crack into arid dust—dearths—fecundity’s bane. Then you put your shovel in and next thing you know your in China. Right through the core. Is that’s all that’s there? Jesus.
I don’t want to believe. Love is the key. Late late at night. Overcome. I made that connection. Was I just lonely. No, I let her throw rocks at my window and pretended to be asleep because I hated her mind. But god she looked good. She could create too. I tried to come inside her. I did a little bit. Never told her. Spoiled by another. Another who wanted my come. Wanted my child. Strange. Long strange trip. Not done. Changing. Getting weirder. I’m only getting better at this.
Anger. Refuses to leave. Revenge will happen, just a matter of when. Avengence more like it. Right vs. Wrong. Karma. Standing up to abuse. Soon enough. No rush.
Three is the magic number. 2 down already. MUCH faster than I thought. Weird tits. She had weird weird tits. Bad vagina. Add the notches.
Heh. Do you think she believed me? Or anything I said? You try honesty once. After that you learn their language. Lies. I lied. You shared me you idiot. Heh. You’ll never know.
I’m a bad boy. I’m a nerd. I’m a jock. I’m a pornstar. I bet I can come farther than you.
I am a lover. -
THIS IS PERFECT
For Grace, After A Party
You do not always know what I am feeling.
Last night in the warm spring air while I was
blazing my tirade against someone who doesn’t
interest
me, it was love for you that set me
afire,
and isn’t it odd? for in rooms full of
strangers my most tender feelings
writhe and
bear the fruit of screaming. Put out your hand,
isn’t there
an ashtray, suddenly, there? beside
the bed? And someone you love enters the room
and says wouldn’t
you like the eggs a little
different today?
And when they arrive they are
just plain scrambled eggs and the warm weather
is holding.—Frank O’Hara
(with all my love) -
At Joan’s
It is almost three
I sit at the marble top
sorting poems, miserable
the little lamp glows feebly
I don’t glow at all
I have another cognac
and stare at two little paintings
of Jean-Paul’s, so great
I must do so much
or did they just happen
the breeze is cool
barely a sound filters up
through my confused eyes
I am lonely for myself
I can’t find a real poem
if it won’t happen to me
what shall I do—Frank O’Hara
-
A Man Meets A Woman In The Street
Under the separated leaves of shade
Of the gingko, that old tree
That has existed essentially unchanged
Longer than any other living tree,
I walk behind a woman. Her hair’s coarse gold
Is spun from the sunlight that it rides upon.
Women were paid to knit from sweet champagne
Her second skin: it winds and unwinds, winds
Up her long legs, delectable haunches,
As she sways, in sunlight, up the gazing aisle.
The shade of the tree that is called maidenhair,
That is not positively known
To exist in a wild state, spots her fair or almost fair
Hair twisted in a French twist; tall or almost tall,
She walks through the air the rain has washed, a clear thing
Moving easily on its high heels, seeming to men
Miraculous…Since I can call her, as Swann couldn’t
A woman who is my type, I follow with the warmth
Of familiarity, of novelty, this new
Example of the type,
Reminded of how Lorenz’s just-hatched goslings
Shook off the last remnants of the egg
And, looking at Lorenz, realized that Lorenz
Was their mother. Quaking, his little family
Followed him everywhere; and when they met a goose,
Their mother, they ran to him afraid.
Imprinted upon me
Is the shape I run to, the sweet strange
Breath-taking contours that breathe to me: ‘I am yours,
Be mine!’
Following this new
Body, somehow familiar, this young shape, somehow old,
For a moment I’m younger, the century is younger.
the living Strauss, his moustache just getting gray,
Is shouting to the players: ‘Louder!
Louder! I can still hear Madame Schumann-Heink-’
Or else, white, bald, the old man’s joyfully
Telling conductors they must play Elektra
Like A Midsummer Night’s Dream -like a fairy music;
Proust, dying, is swallowing his iced beer
And changing in proof the death of Bergotte
According to his own experience; Garbo,
A commissar in Paris, is listening attentively
To the voice telling how McGillicuddy me McGillivray,
And McGillivray said to McGillicuddy-no, McGillicuddy
Said to McGillivray-that is, McGillivray…Garbo
Says seriously: ‘I vish dey’d never met.’
As I walk behind this woman I remember
That before I flew here-waked in the forest
At dawn, by the piece called Birds Beginning Day
That, each day, birds play to begin the day-
I wished as men wish: ‘May this day be different!’
The birds were wishing, as birds wish-over and over,
With a last firmness, intensity, reality-
‘May this day be the same!’
Ah, turn to me
And look into my eyes, say: ‘I am yours,
Be mine!’
My wish will have come true. And yet
When your eyes meet my eyes, they’ll bring into
The weightlessness of my pure wish the weight
Of a human being: someone to help or hurt,
Someone to be good to me, to be good to,
Someone to cry when I am angry
that she doesn’t like Elektra, someone to start on Proust with.
A wish, come true, is life. I have my life.
When you turn just slide your eyes across my eyes
And show in a look flickering across your face
As lightly as a leaf’s shade, a bird’s wing,
That there is no one in the world quit like me,
That if only…If only…
That will be enough.
But I’ve pretended long enough: I walk faster
And come close, touch with the tip of my finger
The nape of her neck, just where the gold
Hair stops, and the champagne-colored dress begins.
My finger touches her as the gingko’s shadow
Touches her.
Because, after all, it is my wife
In a new dress from Bergdorf’s, walking toward the park.
She cries out, we kiss each other, and walk arm in arm
Through the sunlight that’s much too good for New York,
The sunlight of our own house in the forest.
Still, though, the poor things need it…We’ve no need
To start out on Proust, to ask each other about Strauss.
We first helped each other, hurt each other, years ago.
After so many changes made and joys repeated,
Our first bewildered, transcending recognition
Is pure acceptance. We can’t tell our life
From our wish. Really I began the day
Not with a man’s wish: ‘May this day be different,’
But with the birds’ wish: ‘May this day
Be the same day, the day of my life.’—Randall Jarrell -
Forgiveness
occasionally, i drink too much
last night,
i went of Facebook
and sent a message to a person with whom
i shared something undeniable
it was short and very
very
direct
thirty minutes passed
during which i was drowning in regret
and beer
and then a ding on my phone
made me scramble
there was a message a bit longer than i thought
not an immediate rejection or condemnation
the tone was curious
immediately i wrote back and found her on chat
and we talked
and she inquired
and i explained the background to my message
i explained the urgency
then i spoke of our experience
it was still early and she said i could come over and gave me her phone number
i couldn’t say if it was new or not
six years
i texted her but didn’t add a contact
i was too drunk to drive but held my breath and luckily it was only fifteen
minutes away
she buzzed me in and told me where to park and i saw her
in her “comfortable clothes”
hesitantly waiting behind the metal rails of the third floor
standing there
examining me, examining my intentions, examining herself
maybe she was lonely
i didn’t ask—
i didn’t need to know
i jogged up the steps as i always do
and she looked at me—
we were older
really adults
she was a woman
i felt like a child still
she was wearing make up—
a weakness—
i knew i had a chance
she presented herself to me with some diffidence and attitude
which i expected from her
she could smell alcohol on me and called me a drunk but didn’t get upset
we sat together and she poured some wine
and her apartment was spacious and white and clean and smelled
“like girl”
that was something i used to say
i tried to gauge her body language
as i explained myself again—
staring into eyes i once thought beautiful
but now just looked tired
i changed the subject artfully and asked a probing question
but the mind that used to fascinate her
now only seemed to make her even more tired
i was sobering and losing my opportunity
so i moved next to her
and put my arm around her
hesitantly
like a child trying to trust
she fell into the same embrace we hadn’t shared in six years
it’s amazing how easily it was to find
some touch you never forget
i knew the soft caress of my fingers against her cheek and the
fatherly stroking of her hair was something only i knew how to do correctly
she’d never find a man who could touch her the way i did
and make her lose her mind
but she held on to a conviction and she soon broke our embrace and got a glass of water and asked, “are you going to stay?”
i didn’t say anything but got up and followed her into her room
she didn’t undress and got into bed and scooted over towards the wall
i undressed to my boxers then slid in beside her
she didn’t make much of an effort
but i pulled her close and she relaxed a bit
and i heard her sigh slightly
and then i sat up and leaned over her
gently turning her head to face mine
and leaned in and kissed her very very softly on the lips
she didn’t kiss back and i left the embrace and looked at her
she did her best to show indifference but i could see her ambivalence
swirling in her eyes
she held strong and slowly turned away
not making a sound
i though about waiting her out
but was drunk and entirely impatient
so i asked
“was that wrong?”
she didn’t say anything for a long time
then turned to look at me
“try again,” she said
i did and she kissed me back
she poked my tongue with hers
and i grabbed her close and heard her exhale passionately
i started to feel down her shoulder
grabbed her ribs
and her hips
then petted up her legs
which were as long and smooth as i remembered
i slowly undressed her
pulling down her pajama pants
and felt her warmth
she moaned softly
and we kept kissing passionately
i started to pull her shirt off
and she took over and i slid off my boxers
she never touched me
but she was never that big on that
and i was poised on top of her
and she was wet and waiting for me to enter
and i looked into her eyes
and woke up
or that’s what it felt like
i suddenly snapped back into reality
and i was there in an apartment
with future and past bunching like a slacked string
months of commitment flashing before my eyes
words and promises made to other people
ghosts now
the same words. the same touch
and i knew this person and i didn’t
and i wanted this
or so i thought
i tried to
that’s what happened
but i couldn’t stay hard
it wasn’t the alcohol—i’d been hard this whole time
but i couldn’t do it
i felt my heart sink
suddenly i cared about this person lying here
i cared again—
or maybe for the first time
she stared and me
and then when she saw me unable to keep an erection
and we weren’t proceeding
she asked what was wrong
“i don’t know,” i said
and she felt shame
and covered her breasts with her arms—
or maybe she was just cold
i thought i saw her shiver
and i moved to lie beside her and pulled the covers over her
she lay on her back for a minute then turned to embrace me
“what’s wrong,” she said again
“i don’t know,” i repeated
“did i do something wrong?” she asked softly
“no. of course not,” i assured and hugged her
she accepted the hug this time and pressed her warm
body against mine
“i guess i’m not ready yet,” i admitted
and those words dribbled out as flaccid as my penis
my heart sank
how little i’d progressed
how for i had left to go—i’d barely started
anger flared
anger at terrible, mindless psycho
she didn’t say anything for a long time then whispered, “okay”
i felt a million things
a barrage of complex feelings
i began sorting:
“i’m so sorry. i meant what i said. i really want this,” i reiterated, “thank you”
“for what?” she asked
“for this. for everything. for answering and letting me come over and giving me what you did. thank you. it means everything to me. i’m sorry my heart’s all messed up still, i guess. i really want you. i can please you if you want.”
“no,” she said and turned away again
i felt sick
she was quiet for several minutes—i was boiling in fervor
“i’m so sorry,” i repeated, “i’ll leave if you want”
she didn’t say anything for a really long time and it was weirdly silent until the air conditioner switched on
“you don’t have to leave. i understand,” she said and looked back at me
i kissed her again and it was soft and for different reasons and my chest was on fire
i knew she was giving me more than i’d give her right now
and it felt like bubbles were rising beneath my heart—
it wasn’t a pleasant feeling and with it came panic
i was fidgeting and she noticed
but didn’t get mad
and calmly sat up
turned me on my side
and spooned me
she pressed her sleek little body up against mine
it was the warmest, nicest thing i’d ever felt
and she slowly rubbed my shoulders and arms
and soon i was calm
“thank you” i whispered
she said nothing
“thank you. thank you thank you thank you”
“shhh,” she said and ran her long soft fingers through my hair
the moment was far from perfect—
by definition that was impossible
but somehow
with all the emotional confusion
and mental anguish
months and years of abuse and pain
that led me to sending a drunk message on a Sunday evening
she’d found a reason to give me something i didn’t deserve
strange forgiveness
acceptance
understanding
sacrifice—all things i forgot humans could give
maybe it was her way of saying sorry
but she’d been forgiven
maybe i was wrong
so confusing and bittersweet and complicated and wonderful
it was incredible
it played havoc on my emotions and twisted me in strange ways
that will take weeks to sort out
document
and understand
but it was incredible and it was the sign i’d been hoping for
thank you:)
