i don't usually wear rings.

I’ve molded around this ring. Cheap, even free – you found it, you said, and wondered if I wanted it. You knew I never really wore rings. I took it, why not? I kind of like it, the boring, pewter-grey color of it, with scuffs and scratches already in place. It was a pair of shoes that was sure not to cause any blisters; someone else had already done the breaking-in, walking around, given it a taste of the average finger before mine. Left hand, middle finger: perfect. I kissed you and said thanks. And our new addition, this ironclad connection of ours, settled onto the base of my finger.

And it stayed there, pressing into my skin, as I told you I wasn’t sure. I nervously pulled it off, put it on, spun it between my fingers, as I tried to describe the darkening collection of fluff and air floating around my grey matter. The wandering words whisked out of that cloud just in time to explain: I don’t feel the way I used to. But of course I still love you! I made sure to inject that sedative, straight to your chest, just in case my mouth was getting ahead of my mind and I needed a reference point to come back to. The ring settled back onto the base of my finger. You didn’t sleep that night.

The indent around my finger stayed there, as I drank away our telephone fight. The grey ring clashed with the clear bottle, I thought; probably better just to take it off while I handle this. I pulled it off, put it on, pulled it off, and set it down on the kitchen counter. I remembered you on that counter the night our roommates were gone and we’d grown bored of the bedroom. The bottle didn’t fit on my hand nearly as snug as my monochromatic associate, and besides, there was simply too much to drink for one man and a thirsty ring. A voice, attached to a body, had floated in the kitchen after me. She offered to help, and a glass of liquid jumped eagerly to her lips. As we drank, we contemplated where the evening would end. The ring, my ring, rolled one large, pewter eye at my slurred persuasion. We left the room before it could change my mind.

I played a game of horseshoe with ten bony, knuckled stakes while you screamed. I won almost every time, imagine that. Sometimes, the muted choking sounds fighting through the now-black collection of fluff and air would distract me, and I’d ease the sandbags on my eyelids to cautiously glance at you. The grey horseshoe would take advantage of this break from concentration and fail to make its way successfully onto a stake, plummeting to the carpet. Then I would have to wait for you to breathe long enough to retrieve my game piece. It’s fine, see? Just a ring, no damage at all, no need to worry. You wondered how I could do this to you. Isn’t it strange this ring only fits on this finger? I wondered who wore it before me. Your throat gave out, but your tear ducts had more to say. You didn’t eat that week.

chew

a mouth full of tiny destroyers,
to a bucket of boiling acid
on the way down, what remains
puts up a fight, digs in for the
push, pushes the blade into the
pulsing cavern, warm subway to hell
but, when it finally fails and falls,
oh, that is just the beginning -
it sparks!
the acid lights this fuse,
a quick creation, a lovely runner
sprinting through the red and blue avenues,
any of a thousand.
any of a million.
they all lead back to the top
ride this river,
run the writing red lines.
pound the bliss
into my fingertips.

prayer

In the dark, you could be anyone.
Lips feel the same;
they move like silent
Prayer. For me to change,
For us to stay the same.
Pray
For us to stay the same.

In your tiny sun, the shadow crawls
Its shaded knuckles
Across your curving, rising
Chest.
We move like silent
Prayer. My fingertips, callused
Leave a trail of tightened skin;
It reads like scripture.
Pray
That truth lies in the pages.

In this cotton tomb, not a place for death,
A place to arrest
The oxygen beneath your breast
The light blade crawls
Its golden razor
Across our pressing, sticking,
Sweat.
As our mouths spread, silent
Prayers.

reversal

You’ve failed to do it again.
One minute, not even ten
We destroy it

A sort of crippled curse, our breath
Dull as a Devil’s dagger,
My left hand

A speck of dust.
Your face a chiseled, coarse
chopping block.

Paint on the mask
Oh, my brother,
Do you adore

the bridge, the highways, the beauty of life?
This fragrant mist
will certainly stay.

In months, years, the sky
The loud cloud columns
won’t settle down on you

And you are a grimacing man.
We are only ninety.
And, like the melody, we will never die.

This is twenty-three.
What a joy,
to soar on every second.

What a gentle candle.
The softly speaking mother
tilts her head to hear

them bandage head and chest
The quiet listening.
Friends, family

These are our lives.
Your fists.
We are metal and string,

Changing, never the same, upgraded men.
It never happened against our will.
It was always chosen.

Each time we intended
to give in, but come back stronger.
You opened up

As the arms that held.
She didn’t ask twice,
to keep your warmth inside, a place to hide.

Living
Is a light, unlike anything else.
We blanket and blow, like demons from hell.

We do it to feel close to the sky.
We do it for delusion.
You’ll say we’ve no direction.

It’s hard enough to be in this world.
It’s hard enough to achieve and run.
It’s the common, dull

Hidden phrase in twilight
Always a different place, strange face, soft and fair
The angry whisper:

‘A curse.’
That wakes us up.
Free-for-all, free for us

For the healing, smooth skin is free
For our heaving, silent chests are free
and it all stops.

And know that this is free, that we are free
From our sight and our tongues
How we bit them so long,

the rest of our hearts and our thoughts.
So, so, dear Brother.
So, your love:

You are my requiem,
You are my worthless,
The fool’s gold and silver

that stands to the elements.
We stand and fly.
We know where our thoughts, and our interests lie.

The Ocean, Sky –
I leave them alone.
No more flesh, no more bone – I am there

A crest and fall,
A stony grave,
A foamy ceiling.

Dear Mother, Dear Brother –
Be calm,
Be calm.

Into the sky
We’ll sink with our wings
And leave men behind.

challenge

I see myself
hear myself
feel myself.
I am meta
arrogance
self-aware
And deserved
this surviving
body's strength
I push until
the day that
it can't function
Is it a shell
or something else
a housing unit
For brilliant doubt
I see myself
hear myself
Feel myself
in this closure,
I am enclosed.

hurricane drain

The hurricane shape of the drain
shows silver spirals suck away the boiling water
From my scalded pink skin, fresh from the womb
Every pore gasping for air
as the cloak of liquid recedes.

In direct contrast, the ice glass
I grip with my sturdy right hand
Levitates, tips and shakes
Its dirty contents down the pebble bridge of my tongue
To inject my slimy organs
with soiled poisons.

Red branches grow from drunken eyes,
As I watch the silver hurricane
in my bathtub drain.
Its spiral dwindles, leaving swampy porcelain
And sticky pink eraser skin
And a head of cinderblocks
And white noise vision.

In direct contrast, the ice glass
slips from my sturdy right hand
And shatters blades across the floor.

i've heard it's the best way

I’ve got a thousand tiny lungs
on every inch of skin
heaving, breathing,
and pulling air in

but their
rhythm
is
breaking
they struggle against me
as you slither down their openings,
a suffocation scene

it cannot be the chemicals
simply mixing past my teeth
raising heat, slowing – breathe
drag the eyelids as a

beat cop, casing murder gone unsolved
naked lungs burning for air
as you slither, squeeze, release
coating every strand of hair

oxygen, a fickle fleeting
flirting, fucked-up kind of friend
who stays the night, but every time
abandons as a one night stand

the brain, depending on
a thousand tiny lungs
no heaving, breathing,
only sucking water in

as a well in a downpour
as a desert flashflood
as the drain in the bathtub,
as the water still runs

the alcohol, back
then forth.
fingers reach my bottom lip,
a fist of surprising force.

I’ve got two larger lungs
that empty, fill, repeat
but slowly let their duties go
in willing, calm defeat.

467,

we were lucky to have that place.
we were lucky to have each other.
but our luck didn't run out,
it decayed with a cancerous confusion
and destructive detail
until the rot in the corner of the room
left a skeleton to fall
and crumble to dust,
and the smell finally hit us.

sometimes, i reconstruct you
as you never were
as i wish you had been.
sometimes, i realize i stopped trying
i didn't care
and you cared far too much to notice
or allow yourself to realize what was happening.

they still ask where you are.

i pushed you away
with a strength i did not know i had.
and now you've created a strong new self
with arms to shovel dirt on the stiff eyelids
that loved us.

we were lucky to have that place.
we were lucky to have each other.
i was lucky to lose you.

today is amazing.

I can't wait to be alone.
Driving anywhere, nothing but myself, the seat, the music....
I can't wait to leave everyone
Everything
behind.
I can't wait for years of breaking down everything I've gotten used to,
grown complacent,
accepting a wasted life.
I can't wait to play, every day,
my words, my songs, my life on display.
It's for myself, and no one else.
I can't wait to be alone.

And, on that note:
I can't wait to find a home.
With records spinning, wine glasses spilling,
autumn leaves and coffee.
My front porch guitar, weathered, scratched and scarred
Teach my son to release
his confusion with strings.
And my wife, beautiful, independent and strong
Faith in foremost herself, both of us separate vessels
that have one another to stay the course.
Everything that I see
when I'm close to someone, and I see a piece
of her, but not the whole thing.
I can't wait to be alone,

but I can't wait to need someone.
Someone who can hurt me -
but won't.
Someone who doesn't need me,
but wants me.
Someone who eradicates doubt
who I know I can live out the rest of this life with
And enjoy what we have,
what is guaranteed,
not worrying about Ghosts or God,
Right or Wrong,
just content. Just knowing we meant
Everything when we said, "I love you."

I can't wait
to hurry up and live.

the music rode shotgun

the music rode shotgun,
watching us move
moving mountains to find
the glaciers beneath

and your body, the driver,
the running red lighter
spinning circles to burn
the imprinted skin.

the Blue song, a shotgun,
a barrel to temple
line our heads up just right,
your cheek pressed to mine

and the gasping, the heaving,
the scrape of the ceiling
peeling layers to show us
the imprinted skin.

binge and purge

i am binge and purge,
all or nothing,
sane or crazy,
loyal or deceitful,
and certainly unsure.

amen.

to my father, whose art I despise:
Keep your cotton candy dreams;
your chocolate-covered lies
your beard of redwood trees,
and lovely mouth of dirt.
Step the marble clouds to retrieve me
and bring me back to earth.

skin

Piece the skin of your teeth together,
you spoke the claws that scratch
your cells apart

Feel the silvering, stinging needle
bounce around your throat,
pierce a new window.

Scream the rain to slash the curtains shut
hinges cry for wet, pull your
house apart

Sew your marrow and bone together
and wait for spring to relieve
your stiff corpse.

Hold

Do you hold these addictions
with or without me?
I asked, as you sipped from the cup.
Are you set here forever,
as granite or metal,
or float as a leaf to sweep up?
That's the chemicals talking,
you smile,
you say,
And you won't care to know in the morning.
But I know that I will,
and it pesters me still,
so I smile and stare at the ceiling.