in the Sky

The day after is always cruel in its indifference. The last of the alcohol seeps out and leaves only gutter leaves, only muck and confusion. I ran along the river and tried to sweat it out, but one last heavy weight lingered on my brow. I went to Brooklyn, ostensibly to get work done but wanting really only to sit in a window and look at the city, let it heal me. A small dog curled up in the curve of my arm. I thought alright then, and it was. A small girl waits patiently at the end of the cursor, asks nothing of me that I do not give willingly.

The truth is I want to give her the world.

I don't know why I don't.

Belleville

People come for the cherry blossoms, she tells us. We’re booked through 2021. At the mention of cherry blossoms suddenly I see only fall foliage, only shades of fire and the possibility that maybe autumn isn’t death, that maybe things live because we want them to. That maybe I can look at this ink blot from another angle and paint another image inside my eyelids. Here’s my happy little accident. I wore a scent of 2017 on my skin, of tour buses and freedom, it drifted across my awareness at the strangest moments but it felt safe, comforting, steadfast.

We stood on the street corner for hours, until the air grew cold and my shoulders shivered. The Empire State went to sleep behind us, and I thought how this building has kept watch over me for so many years, unwavering, reliable, reassuring. How this building reminded me what home is. I know you don’t know all the answers.

Just rest a while. When you have found home, dare to believe it will know them for you.

Moonstruck

We drove across the Manhattan Bridge, late afternoon sun streaming across the island onto Brooklyn, the sky blue and the air expansive around us, and at last I remembered again how to breathe. I rested my hand on the steering wheel and took deep, clear breaths in a smile.

When you've been drowning in soil six feet deep, a moment in the clouds is a treasure.

Bum

The day after the bludgeoning is quiet. He asks how I'm doing and all I can think of are bruises, everything is dull, aching. I remember how to get up at the end of the fight, please do not send ambulances, but I know I should not have so many TKOs under my belt without someone looking around for concussions. I read Kerouac in Mexico and it soothes me, like his sad eyes hold my hands clear to redemption and maybe I'll make it out alive after all.


"Where'd you learn to do all these funny things?" he laughed. "And you know I say funny but there's sumpthin so durned sensible about 'em. Here I am killin myself drivin this rig back and forth from Ohio to LA and I make more money than you ever had in your whole life as a hobo, but you're the one who enjoys life and not only that but you do it without workin or a whole lot of money. Now who's smart, you or me?"

 Just because you made a deal with the devil doesn't mean you didn't win.

(post)

The only answer is work,
on a post-it.
The only answer is work,
in a notebook.
The only answer is work,
etched into my skin
again
again
again, they say
be mindful of tattoos
because they last forever but they
never warn you against scars you
carved into your own canvas, they
never stop you from all these stories you
paint
onto your sad eyes and
I know I fight
tooth and nail
to keep you from trying but
please,
try,
please,
remind me there are stories to tell
in which I
do
not
bleed.

Tread

She writes from across the ocean, and I do not listen. She yells from across the time zones and I try to look away, but the tears catch me off guard and I sit crying in a quiet Brooklyn coffeeshop, while people rush to work outside the window. The Mountain West calls to me, reminds me of quiet air and space for lungs to breathe, my to do lists falter in the margins, I wonder how early is too early to be drinking. Perhaps the truth is I was always stumbling, it's just sometimes I could make it look like I was running, sometimes I could make it look like I was dancing but I was only ever two steps away from falling down, do you hear what I'm saying? I'm saying leave this sinking ship, I'm saying save yourselves while you still can because everything is drowning and I'm trying to shut the hatch to minimize the damage, concentrate it to just this body, hear what I'm saying.

I'm saying you got out just in time. Keep swimming. I'm saying I don't think I can do it anymore.

addendum

She told me it's not that I don't know what my dreams are. That that's just something I'm telling myself. She told me the problem is I'm not doing what my dreams tell me to do. 

We craft our lives out of stories.

How would you like yours to go?