Today, I’m at the freehand on Ohio (19 E), feeling fortunate that I can leave
then to
somewhere to sleep the same night
then to
my need to rush the gauntlet where people (are meant to) battle to meet (but ultimately fall short of) my lofty expectations
then to:
negative ruminations behind
and a mind to be sure when this happens next time…
I’ll end the war in a loft
some place more than just “somewhere to sleep the same night”
What do I have a spare tire for? I don’t even know how to drive.
I told my friend I didn’t have friends and he agreed. I wanted to meet new people, but then I couldn’t find any good reason I’d leave my place to meet people.
Though she be bare, each curve is free from chinks;
For times her life leaned on a draining source
I swore we’d last that one night over drinks
The words themselves pushing me forward with force.
I’d hoped so deep the technician was right
Restoration: new battery and case;
We’d go back to where we were that night
My mind occupied, blue light in my face.
The bulk was done and now came time to choose;
You deserve new color and brand new air;
Bells and whistles, I splurged for full kit, too!
Saving you showed me plainly I was bare.
The things I own, I told myself, held worth.
Without care, how’d I expect you to go forth?
Chew on your foot
Sleep on your pillow
Walk with your step
Paws on your chin
So you’ll drop your attention down to me
You have me now
When at one time
Watashi wa inu o mochimasen deshita
Now I am supposed to grip your hand back
Otherwise you’ll try checking my pulse
Be alive. Stay present.
I was supposed to lean against you
but splashed Slurpee in your frozen lap and now you’re bluish
How long was I squeezing your hand?
Like a doula, you let me realize when the nerves were gone
And simply didn’t call me again.
resistance is futile.
thinking of us daily
prepared you for me
since before you’d heard
of resistance.
and still
you have wanted it.
Thanking fading sins
Doubt of consequence is seeping in.
Each one shaking with feeling, but wouldn’t say, “And the commandment, which was ordained to life, I found to be unto death.”
The wind hinting-hurling at a tempest mind says to the emptiness in waiting…
Though it was to be filled with faith—
Being whole unknown to us—wholesomeness unknown to us also, “May I wonder?”
“For sin, taking occasion by the commandment deceived me, and by it slew me.”
Until, in some way worthy of your grace.
Your giving of it making it so.
May I believe there is nothing more to abhor of myself if you have found something worth loving?
Or have I once again shown my brazenness?
Out of the tumbling of earth,
The fall
Has become me
And swallowed what was once stumble.
Loam
The scent in those leaves is yours
The heat of the tangle we share
The hit of this tango we’ve skipped
Long lost in the jungle we wait
Four limbs to be strangles in “yes”
Head light from the toggle and twish
I’ve longed to be headstrong and wrong
Five eyes to be open and melt
You’re mine from the tangle of trust
Knee-deep–
I’m yours from the break of the day
Put out what you’ve set ablaze.
Utopia was real
At one time
It was not new
Was not unlikely
Was deserved
At one time
Till then, again
Endure this hell
What is not gradient?
What flow of time isn’t eventual memory loss?
What remembrance wasn’t each day feeling the real thing less and less and then transferring sensation into delusional perception—for the sake of not fading?
What isn’t gradient?
It should not even be a word.
What catatonic love wasn’t daily forgetting why anything was worth the efforts?
Who is born as man?
Who is born, skin already taught?
Flesh nearly ready to burst?
Ready to give up into deadly
nothing but still
Floating into air like interpretive dance and all muscles pulsing?
Who is born man?
What song isn’t transition from now until the end?
( This piece was recently published the Hawaii Pacific Review. That enough was reason to open it & I was more than pleasantly surprised❕💬 )
by Hosho McCreesh (from A Deep & Gorgeous Thirst) At the chalet and you’re guzzling down bombers of Farmer beer, and the occasional measure of …
A Deep & Gorgeous Thirst
The chosen ones made idols.
Statues of gold and genies right below the present, True and Living God.
Stay far from gold.
Whatever you should decide to arrive in, let it not be gold.
Too oft does gold stimulate hungry pupils readied with greedy hearts waiting to make of you a statue and symbol of meaning in their eyes.
A symbol of something foreboding. Coated completely in matte armor.
Turning shiny in the sunlight
Then back to its lusterless base.
I am the River Moldau collecting beneath crossed ankles.
I am the sideways push to get out from your path.
I am you, stained grey-air ash.
I am warmest French bread and condensation on the plate.
Me and the droplets waiting for spreadable Everything’s Better Butter.
In bed without solace of rest
Each sand of the day falling
In poring over the text of ages.
Like bed-light under comforter
Many moons ago.
Still a similar warmth of spirit
And text of ages in hand:
A letter.
From father to long lost love
Not mother.
Proof of an everlasting trial.
Secrecy by the fault lines
Which brought forth death
In the form of children.
A text for the ages.
