What’s with these late nights of loving and longing and longing to be loved. We all have gaps and it’s not enough to stay up late and try to fill them with stardust. There are only rooms that feel like prisons whether or we are at home or running empty mugs along the counters of dive bars. I’ve thought I could find my better self on the side of the street, thumb out waiting for my old self to pick me up and put me in the passenger seat to go along for the ride. I’m through asking for salvation. I just want the next day to be different from the last. I want to be stared at a little longer. I want to be loved a little stronger. I want one more person to remember me as I the person I hope I am.
When it rains, I think
This must be Seattle fish markets smell like,
But I wouldn’t know
I’m just an east coast boy
So that Pacific time catches up to me
I’ll tell you about my
While asking you to ignore
The splish and the splash
of me, trying,
to extricate my legs from thick red mud
Before tomorrow comes
And the kiln of the southern spring
Bakes the ground brick
and I have no choice
but to remain
In my all too familiar surroundings.
Does anyone even remember me?
I am bumping my head against low ceilings cursing myself for getting this tall or maybe the room is too small and to blame my stunted growth. I never asked for anything short of being a hero strong enough to save your world. What’s a man to do with his hands if he cannot build love from nothing?