home

today i realized i've been home
as long as i was there
but home has felt like
the blur of a day spent watching television
while there felt like
the blur of a day spent climbing mountains
or biking canals
or looking at Van Gogh
or walking through cathedrals
or taking mushrooms
and watching neon lights across the water
and seeing faces in the trees
and humming songs to each other in the park.

ghosts

i see the shape of your face

in the shadows of bedrooms

and living rooms

and kitchens

and couches

and patios

and front porches

and back seats

and day dreams

and night mares

and soft morning light

and sunsets

and ghosts

pour another

pour another shot

and forget what we’re missing

forget i’m missing you

fall in line 

with all the wounded soldiers 

stacked along the countertop

pour out the rest

another beer, bubbling

and sliding down the drain

purse my lips

in dry desperation 

reaching for another drop

another memory

of kissing smooth aluminum

another drink to soothe

the wounded soldiers

lined along the countertop

please, pour another shot

bedtime

thanks for the reminders
and the goals
and the memories

isn't it obvious
I'm trying to get better
trying to get sober

converting our history
to a one hour photo
a chemical blur

the timelines
the soft lines
the corners of your eyes

the sweet shape of your face
resting on my shoulder
pulling you closer

but don't worry
I'm trying to be better
really trying to be sober

I'm only drinking vodka in the morning
whiskey in the afternoon
and beer before bedtime

objective

i forgot how cold it gets here
i haven't seen my breath in months
fogs of air and nicotine
spinning in circles
pressing the phone to my ear

i forgot i was trying
to break my own cycle
to do something different
than i've done before

i forgot how alone this place feels
when i'm used to your presence
fogs of late nights and ethanol
rooms spinning in circles
pushing me closer to you

i forgot to remember
to drink less and feel more
and love you and make myself someone
worth having.

anniversary

the wind, it catches up to me
the calm before the storm
the breeze at my back

a bundle of curls
against my arm
the warmth of a tiny cheek

pulls the stitches out
pries the skin apart
reveals a wound long since scabbed over

the memory of our anniversary
sends me down the mountain
calm before the storm

the rain, it catches up to me
stealing the warmth
of a tiny cheek

memory

When the smell of my skin

Fades from your sheets

Will you remember 

How it felt to touch me

When my breath 

Leaves your pillowcase

Will you catch me in your lungs  

Before you fall asleep 

I’m jealous of the waves in your curls

the air on your legs

the light on your dress

Jealous of the breath in your chest

The ground at your feet

The wall you lean on

When you’re drunk and trying to keep steady

When the color of my eyes

Leaves your memory

What will you see

When you think of me

Stonehenge

the sands of your existence
trapped between my toes
caught within the fibers of my clothing
the spaces between teeth

straddled by your memory
in the driver's seat
casting grains across the fabric
with your tongue thrashing inside of me

you moaned,
and pulled against your clothing
wishing for water
as we walked along the coast

from Alkai Beach to Mexico
and somewhere you were lost
a pillar of salt
turning to sand,

the sands of your existence
invisible to my heart's eye, yet
Stonehenge to the passing termite
and once again you give me

the gift of perspective
wet with lust
and humid air
straddled by your memory

close my eyes
dig my fingers into you
feel the sand beneath my fingernails
and bring you to my lips

saturate

saturate my skull
with bittersweet ethanol
a marinade of make-believe
pickled and preserved for posterity

surrounded by tongues
in familiar spaces
where the lines don't blur as quickly
and the expectation

of drunken sandpaper,
working off the old wood
strips the furrowed bark
to the fresh green flesh beneath

and suddenly I am
much easier to stomach
much easier to place
much prettier and comfortable

a grand mediator
supportive and structured
understanding, stimulating
a space to entertain, to

quiet the shame
quiet my name
quiet the truth,
throbbing phantom pains

my ears are trained
to pick up the sound
reverberating off my soggy skull
a silent signal

transcribed in circuit
with flailing limbs and
manic phrasing
the cadence of conviction

a confident con artist
smiling bittersweetly
soaking my skull,
preserved for posterity

barely a difference
cyclical and same
if it doesn't feel different
why do I abstain?

home

I went back home to my mother's house

And remembered how we don't

Open the blinds

Keep the rooms in greyscale

Let the afternoon disappear

And the waning winter sunset

Blurry through the treetops

Passing us by

I went back home to my family's house 

And stayed too long 

With creaky joints and bloodshot eyes

Soaked myself in sleep

Waking in the afternoon 

Reaching for a drink 

Rinse, repeat

I went home

And soaked myself in drink

And remembered, one by one

The people that I used to know

Disappearing slowly

The photographs and memories

Slipping by