#518 concrete and clouds

i wouldn't want to be a dentist or a coroner

everyone dreading my visits

and i didn't want to be your lover

like hugging a barb-wire fence that was sometimes charged

but i saw past the concrete walls around your soul

and i saw beneath the black cloud above your head

i saw the softness you fought so hard to hide

i wanted to fix you, but the concrete and clouds proved too strong

i quit on you

and i'm glad i did

life worked out good for me

but today i wonder

about the thickness of your walls

about the opaqueness of your cloud

#515 breathing in, breathing out

on the 3000th night of sharing a bed, he understood
she was asleep, he halfway
and he noticed her breathing, compared hers to his own
as she exhaled, his chest expanded
as his chest deflated, she inhaled
they were perfect opposites, existing in synchronicity
he thought of her excitable personality
of his calm demeanor
he thought of how much she liked parties and social events
of how much he loved staying at home with a good book
perfect opposites, existing in synchronicity

#513 i love you?

says from the other side of the phone call

but i hear the question mark

so, for two reasons

i do not mirror a response

#1

those three words are too important to just use to reassure each other

they are deeper and more special than that

i would not use our bedsheets to wipe up a spill in the kitchen

i will not speak those three words for what i think might be petty self-doubt

#2

i never want the words to be reflexive

like the knee-jerk in a doctor's office

for though i love you with every bit of my body

i want those words to pass certain parts of me every time

the brain, through new synaptic connections

the heart, to feel it every time the words are said

the soul, to appreciate what the words mean

failing to supply the mirror response, does not equal failure

but

if you do not know that i love you

with every cell in my body

from the eternal, vital cells in my heart and organs

to the dead, replaceable cells that cover the dirt under the tips of my fingernails

then

then i have failed

#508 failure

great chunks of her planet fell and disintegrated

and i wasn't there

i lied to myself

it'll be ok

but while i was lying

the nucleus of her planet was exposed

and i wasn't there

there is no excusing this inaction

instead i locked it up in a safety deposit box

ignored by the newest part of my cranial development

and i check on it less and less

but sometimes

i walk to the bank, key in hand, and open the little door

alone, always alone

for grief is powerful and unpredictable

a dangerous combination

then i stuff it back in, lock the door, and leave the bank

i walk home

and i am quiet

#507 anxiety

he's here

he's in the house

i heard footsteps earlier, creaking the patio floorboards outside my bedroom window

he's in the house

the weather is blue and bright

the time is 11am

and i've been scourging my soul for three hours

for not stepping out of bed

in this world

there are no small things

the phone rang around 9

and the pump in my ribcage sang double time in a strange, disonant chord

i lie in bed

my lip tingles from being chewed

the tingling makes me chew more

a cycle with no end in sight

he's under my bed

#506 on joining the dark side

i am sliding in, jumping in

to the oldest contract in history

and like many other recent applicants

i feel fresh and excited about the prospect

the brilliance of the marketing gimmick that shines on her finger

is reflected in her face each time her eyes glimpse it

and i smile

because she smiles

and a one inch object, hollow in the middle

makes us feel full

i did not expect it to change us so much

but my cynicism admits defeat

i'm excited for our circles to join in food and drink and celebration

i'm excited to write her new last name

i'm excited for her to be my wife

and for me to be her man

#505 shovel blisters

an october day in july

perfect weather for yardwork

remembering my father

and i am darkened

how did he know everything

how did he work so hard

i mow and weed, and repair and build

then my watch tells me its hungry for a late lunch

in the bathroom i wash up

motivated by the type of sandwich

only hard work can build:

simple

unbeatable

while washing i notice my hands

darkened by oil and dirt

black arcs under nails

remembering my father

and i am brightened

#504 car crosses fatal median

his wife and kids went out for groceries

he'd stretched out in his favourite chair

excited for silence

no shouting, no questions, no chores

he opened the book he'd received months ago

two chapters later, he stopped

distracted by silence

he inserted a scrap of paper as a bookmark

a useless item on its own

that finds meaning from finding its proper place

does it miss the book while i'm reading, he mused

then he stood, stretched, walked to the window

and stared

down an empty drive

#503 asphalt and dandelion fluff

there are times, home alone, when you stare in a mirror

though no mirrors hang from nails anywhere in sight

you look so far inside the eyes of your reflection, your soul wets itself

so far that you risk forgetting the entrance

knowing all other exit doors will lock behind you

leaving you in alleys with forgotten weeds breaking through asphalt

places that never appear in marketing videos

and it won't matter if the alarm sounds

you'll be yelling in the alley until you realize

then you'll sleep in the alley on the asphalt

with dandelions gone to seed

the trip is risky but necessary

like reading your old journal

risky

because you'll see words you don't like

necessary

because you'll see words you don't like