A reworking
I see your island
and I call.
Is that true then?
An old man
with bitter excuses for
his loneliness.
Beg pardon, imagine please,
exiling yourself
for pity's sake.
Sanctimony
where you could
love instead.
Author: josheiler
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Bottled notes
-
Preposterous Ponderings: Love Bites
You have the right to tell me how not to love you but…
you can’t tell me how to love you.
I corner the market on that shit.
-
Asking Why
Edging over
my collapsing mind,
I see the gears turn.
Scanning for candor
in a side-profile
on your way around.
My body grinds -
to a halt - gear against gear.
Like a hangnail
stuck between your teeth.
Absolution available by appointment only.
Eat your feelings
or they'll eat you.
As do the cherries
sinking down the leeward sun.
Leaving pits in my stomach
that I grow and foster
because I’m fucking better. -
Swing sweet pendulum
A pentavalent clamor
spiraling down.
shink
thunk
Precise amplitudes of waves
scroll
over grids
of fine-bound grain.
shink
These multitudes,
fractals of time,
furors of me:
thunk
pain, love, guilt, growth, gratitude.
Cheese and salami
on the bindings that I may wriggle -
lose myself free.
swoosh
Clean out the closet
and let the spring flourish. -
Sick burn, dude!
Sick burn, dude!
What’s more,
the bear you know
or the man you don’t?
How many options
do you need?
With all my love,
the shoes fall less
when you don’t
toss them in the air.
You always
hit 10,000 steps.
It’s not sad!
That pain in my chest -
bronchospasms
and poor gas exchange.
Maybe I’m just
out of shape.
Say it! Do the thing.
Unless silence has worth.
Cheer up.
There's no shame
in playing the drum
hidden behind
the kitchen counter
until someone
plays along. -
Absolution
That cozy winter cabin,
a black body
radiating what's left
of a dense blaze.
Resigned to bitter self-indulgence
for the sole purpose
of propagating selfness -
unalone
as long as possible.
What a dweeb,
I'd say,
peering past the porch.
The cello and violins
stopped fighting
and released a single note
devoid of tonality,
echoing engagement.
Left with
a brick to talk to
in the receding symphony.
A hearth stone you gave me,
knowing you'd be gone soon.
Smoke bellowed.
Ash on my face,
I wrap myself in coniferous
fumes.
Hoping to rekindle -
gentler -
to feel goosebumps
lured into a brazen reach
for your vibrant light.
Oh word?
I didn't ask for gym motivation,
you fucker.
I didn't ask for batting practice.
It's a rest day anyway.
Wake to our nights
and spark into ecstasy.
Or one night:
I'd chop wood into
the cold, brisk dawn
for a final gasp,
for farts and giggles.
Fuck it, use me. If meaning
nothing
means anything.
Stand on the rungs
of my emotional scaffolding.
Reconcile your
devastatingly romantic
shituationship.
At least hang
this wrought iron up
when your done. -
Antecedent
I live
with the confidence of death,
certain I arrive on time.
I only hope she's not late again.
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