I have to write.
I stare at this blank page
and it stares back
It feeds off me
like a leech it
feast on my fears for breakfast
and sips my anxiety like tea.
until I write.
So here I sit
Staring through this open window
waiting for the magic.
From a home I can’t explain
neighbor of imagination
down the block from love
Or is it hate.
Next to the house that always cooks barbecue.
That smell that sweeps the block
through open windows
love hate relationship with your belly
as it fights for something more.
Yet, here I sit
waiting for the magic.
Watching this orange fuck
slowly crush our stars
gathering Universal’s Minions
calling himself Gru
wasting on a par 4
stealing candy from unborn babies
from the home that he
is burning to the ground.
Closing our window
after only a few months
Look for the magic.
the window is still open
We still have to fight.
Here I stand.
Starting at the open window.
Needing to make humans think
and tell them a lie
that this window
Will always be open.
chasing a dream
a dream I had once
a dream of something
normal. The old normal.
A culdesac barbecue block party
with a domestic drink
and a domestic life.
This is different.
The smell of a culdesac
turns me vegan.
Planning for the future
with a hammer
and a couple nails.
It’s a joke
but it’s the truth.
The nails are a bit rusted
felt like I should mention that.
Head to Home Depot
to have your card rejected
but find a two by four
on the way home.
Buddy said she had
some parts for me,
Looking up already,
call it a note worthy day.
The black panther lives in the rainforest.
This is the home of Faith.
The promising work of a florist.
Home forever even as a wraith.
Enchanting the world with sunny kisses.
Always with you like a reprise.
True nature’s cheery missus.
In spring time, love is carried on the breeze.
Her beauty undeniable by all.
All wanted to see what she could achieve.
Impossible to foresee thee befall.
This panther bows as she takes her leave.
All panthers ache and weep.
Rest now in your beauty sleep.
the golden x on the map
was your address
across unnamed land
a festival featuring a panda as a king
around the parade featuring that same panda
i’ll bring you flowers and a stuffed bear
yes, the panda from the festival
and will come back for cotton candy
bringing the table to dinner
the house was easy to find like they said,
upside down with a boston terrier outside-
the laughing medallion given at the door
a smile for us and a laugh for all, she said
the party had purple gas crawling the floor
we are all clowns
laughing at the moon like a pack-
musical chairs with masks
spin the bottle with acid
eyes flipped inside out
dancing to bulletproof
i watched the way you moved
studying for the exam
no extensions or sick days
show up and shut up
i can’t fail:
in the morning mirrors will be broken
glasses will be shattered
my reflection will carry my sorrow
in baskets with ribbons
and the bell is my nightmare
patience was a gift;
gift from a screaming child
with a torch burning down the rafters-
as the smoke fills this locked shrine
my sense of justice leaves my eyes
the stained glass melts through my palms
the child hands me the torch
into the black of the night
like a piccolo pete
flying and you are the wings
the ground is the past
we’re above that now
sinking ships we’re all afloat now
focused on me and now i’m in lift off
two seats and rain checks cashed in
a lime or two and soft skin
i see your moves and the way you spin
girl i wonder where you have been
when i was on the ground
flapping my wings like an idiot
just wanting to leave the ground
it’s what home smells like
the aroma carries my clothes in my place
like a soft hand across my cheek
a memory shaped in a circle
a reminder that you were here,
but when the scent fades
i crave you
a little taste to carry me for the week and the next
to be closer to home
found on the tip of your lips
the palm of your hands around my waist
leaving your lavender imprint on my chest
burning deep enough
so home is always with me
i want it more than you
so keep my name out of your mouth
i don’t have the ego for this era
and it’s on the low
you can read my name from your couch
you’ll go to the internet and vouch
that your time was stolen
that i never punched out
this wasn’t your shift
and this isn’t overtime
i’ve been here putting in two times
working two times as hard
putting in two times the effort
and you’ll complain two times as much
but i never learned your name
but you know my story
i worry that i’ve wrote it before
said it before
and the words lose meaning
like white out to a dictionary
i mutter white noise
it’s not that this was my goal
or i over say these words
i don’t want you to question or forget
i don’t believe in ten seconds you’ll forget
it’s the eleventh i want to be remembered
and after the twelfth i’ll be there to hold you
thirty i’ll build you a fort that we can live in
a map will be in your email in the morning
on a porch
not my porch, a quiet family owns this porch
they go away on the weekends
i like to imagine they have a country house so their kids can play-
i feel apart of it when i sit here
the tire swing
star-gazing past our bedtime
never going to sleep cold,
on the porch
i go to sleep tucked in with a kiss on the cheek
but like a dream it’ll end
in the morning they’ll return
and i’ll be gone