I
when walking was the warmup not the workout
when salad was the appetizer not the entree
when the alarm woke me not the sun
II
when I was young my worries were
insecurities weeping and self-second-guesses
confidence in the logic of working to the bone
III
what is age but the awareness of living askew
being told your existence is wrong
yet in your Twilight not caring
Mother was a
leave it half done
thrive on drama
do that this the other
my way or the highway
se ya later - wait! come here
I could get money for you?
Daddy was a
don’t leave it, finish it
drama-avoiding
get ‘er done: up an at em
you know where you can find sympathy?
always doing showing
independent go your own way
over vanilla beans halved and scraped
whiskey poured slow to the brim
side-eyeing salivating patient lip-smacking
as I walk past again and again
months and now I can’t open the jar
overwhelming is not the more powerful
embellishing, emphatic of whelming
whelming is the worser thing to be
I was today old when I learned all along
I have been wrong about my entire existence
slightly more than half my life away
from the Shattering of losing you
of making decisions I second guess
and I’m still lost, that elusive self
dodging around every corner I look
for if you catch her in the quiet
lists and lyrics treading, trudging
through the muck and mire
of a mind ever-tinged by the Breaking
and a youth spent whence
she learnt stillness and hands to herself
you will find her setting with the words
she drew-draws as lines in the sand while
she watches as the waters wash away
every chance took or not
not loud, rarely voicing
thinks and whats uncomfortably
taking time to muddy through
crafted trippings off the tongue
never a quick fire but sill
voicing when required and
in the hearing, rare
assuming, seeking, requiring
clarification and confirmation
say what you say; mean what you mean
for I can’t know what in the white space lingers
can’t just come and go
can’t just cancel things
ain’t no up an’ at ‘em here:
why say it once when you can say it again
and so on and so on and so on…
spring melts the ice of winter
(I am a winter baby)
March, April showers bring May flowers
and the remembrance of births and burials
I have a list
longer than a string of days
a very complete list of to-dos
down to the tiniest screw
this list is so filling of hours
I will not complete it - ever
even with the assist
of Angels heavy lifting
Making decisions for someone else’s living -
second guessing for decades to come.
In hindsight, it didn’t break me.
It’s broken me every day since.
It will break me every day to come.
It took moving half the world away
to understand where I want to die…
someday when I answer the door
to a familiar face in blue jeans
while old songs I’m a hummin’
most days in the peripheral I glimpse
some…thing hovering, silting below the surface
inertia and gravity dragging at my heels
tugging at all and sundry downwards
still, I pulled …pull..myself onwards through shear will
and gumption, spit and duct tape on the ready to mend
skinned knees and broken bones
a life lived tinged
with a melancholy borne
into a third child fending
figuring, flailing observant
quietly backing
into the white-space warmly
I was fit to burst
with stories I dreamt;
calm eves of puzzling
night sweats into coherent
língua from the tip of my tongue
spilling from wrists bleeding ink
nourished by black tea and biscuits
licking melted butter from the plate
you, in the other room gaming
just past thirty, I had dreams
I admire those with Identity
those who know themselves enough
it’s a thing I never thought, found
though I searched low
never finding the high of life
in books and inwardness
acquiring knowledge;
am I what I am or do?
and what/who am I anyway?
am I my likes or tendencies?
when they are middling to fair
neither here nor there
easy going…until I’m not
am I simply the science?
I cannot say, I never could
the only sure thing I hate
- besides raspberries and bigotry -
is being told who I am or what I’m thinking
this life is not a real life
if it where a real life
I would be told
where to do and what to go
there are no regrets
decisions are not un-decided
there is only The -
perpetual motion of moving forward
A - zigzag line that loops and twirls
are the starlings angry
or joyful
… in the crisp air of spring
their chirp protrudes
amidst the awareness of aching bones
my heart beats slow
shallow breathing laborious
another precipice looming
it’s in my bones; toes first -
months of little blue piggies
no sock nor wiggle working;
now that my toes are warm-ish
it’s migrated to my knees,
nose, elbows; daily hot bathing
huddling near the heater space
a momentary reprieve;
I didn’t sign up for this…
this being cold since November
twenty-4 years later an’ I’m still sittin’ in a drawer with the odd things that I had planned to use or fix some day, gettin’ tangled in my own cord
suddenly missing
the sultry smooth
of a Texas boy’s
intent and the ease
in which I was me
I thought I had settled in
was settling - in the process of
rooting - envisioning
implementing the vision
of the life I would lead
after a life too determined
a segue in the midst of the trying
of the boggling
down in the mire of figuring
and establishing - hit in a frenzy