It couldn't hurt

It couldn't hurt...

it couldn't hurt.

not me

not this

not now

not ever

it couldn't hurt to try

anymore than to cry

time to feel not to feel

I can't help but give in to nature

introverted and solitary,

I am my worst nightmare

my actions necessitated by emotions

are taxing my will to endure time.

I'm wasting myself to allow myself

time to feel not to feel

Attention! My passion

what does it mean not to remember what living means?

what does it mean to have dreams dying to vie for your attention?

ATTENTION!

your eyes and ears can give no assurance to my fears.

to be assuaged, I have to find my own passion

24 August 2009

I woke up drowsily. 2:34AM, why am I up? The question remained unanswered as I reached for my glasses. Jamie lay peacefully in his bed, he had made it back okay. I wasn't sure what to do. The flashing red light of my phone enticed me to check it. Four new notifications, all Facebook, and an e-mail, spam. I set it down, disgusted.

I managed to find my way to the bathroom. At least, I hadn't forgotten how to relieve myself. The view from the living room suggested a beautiful morning, but I was too groggy to explore it. I poured myself some juice. The concentrated fruit mixture tasted sweet to my sleep induced parched lips. It reminded me of the simple pleasures life could offer. I decided I would shower.

The water was hot, making the air humid and difficult to breathe. But it felt good. I lathered my body and let my mind fill with the emptiness of a steam filled shower. Peace, I couldn't wait to have a bathroom to myself. I could no longer claim to be using the water to clean myself, and the heat had lost its magical effect. So, I got out. I dried off and walked to the mirror. My naked body seemed thinner. It had not yet acquired the weight that cafeteria dinning would undoubtedly give it. I put on my clothes and brushed my teeth. The haircut my father had given me as a parting present did not required me to tend to y hair. I smiled.

Using my phone as a flashlight, I sought out my book. I took it with me as I tried to quietly exit the room. I walked to the neutral zone to read, but found it occupied by Nick. He was sprawled out on the sofa- resting from a night of fun. I hoped Tony, Nick's roommate, made it safely to his room. I called for the elevator.

The sickening sudden drop of the seemingly solid floor reminded me that I hated elevators. I got off in the lobby and moved to the the TV. I powered it on- some movie on TNT. I flipped the channels to find VH1. This early in the day they still played music videos. I settled in to read my book.

It was good, a satisfying sci-fi read. I called the elevator to return. The book was about distant planets and aliens- a "bugger" race that bugged humans into all but destroying them. But as my mind toyed with thoughts of interstellar travel, I couldn't help but feel something instinctively right. The reason I was awake. The bell chimed and the doors opened. I was home.

black bird

a flock of black birds in cramped campus trees

singing as night gracefully takes her leave

is this what the Beattles meant?

the black birds fly off into the morning sun

Crackberry

the blinking red light of social contempt

a vibration in my fragile equilibrium

I try to dismiss this reminder of social contract

but the shock waves extend beyond bb cal

doctor's office flower bouquet

red roses coupled pink

graced with baby's breath in between

you're frozen there eternally

I'm withering hopelessly

18 August 2009

This is for three friends. They know who they are.

It was our last night of summer before we went back to school. Carl, or Kingsworth as I prefer to refer to him, was captured in his usual state of aloofness while Sam blazed fearlessly before us. I was taciturn as expected. I like to think of myself as reflective, but no one else agrees. Anyway, Sam had taken us to an undisclosed and foreign location. Nothing but a hobo was going to stop her assault of the pavement.

I could only think about how we were leaving again. Kingsworth was to head back to Ohio on Friday and I to Nebraska the following morning. Sam would have a few weeks alone before she left as well. We had already said goodbye in our own ways. Kingsworth brought us mementos: a marble and a one pound British coin. The thought of Prescott, the fourth to our group, brought us to the pier where we gazed at stars and tossed sand into a melancholic lake. Sam had to have her way now.

We hopped a fence onto a gravel path to cross a wooden bridge. Sam just wanted to stop by before our real goal- a surprise she said. So, we went back to the road. Two lefts and a right later we were trespassing into a backyard. I nervously followed, but Sam didn't hold back. "Don't worry," Kingsworth said, "this must be the Mastersons." He was right of course. For all his randomness he is always stunningly accurate.

Sam sat on the back porch for Kevin to arrive barefoot and bearing scissors as a gift. We were awkwardly and briefly introduced before Sam tended to the real matter of the visit. There they were, our surprise. Late blooming Surprise Lilies, one stem for each of us. They were beautiful.

It was almost as if Sam knew all along. There was nothing better to commemorate our friendship. A Surprise Lily, our sudden relationship. Four strangers that just happened to meet. Four people that were meant to be. The bloom only happens for two weeks in August, but it's wonderful every year. The kind of pleasant surprise that lasts forever.

Thank you for everything. I love you all.

--PM

broken pieces

we are the broken pieces of the picture of the world

come mellifulously to put ourselves together

in a mosiac majestic, an etching ethereal

sit here, stare

will you sit here and stare with me

at the great eveything, at nothing

will you sit here and stare at possibility?

will you sit here and cry with me

because we can't remember

what it's like to feel...

something, anything, everything, happiness in

possibility

eg- hope