Notes on an Old Man

He realized he wasn't Beauty,
but the ravager of beauty:
the dirty old man
rubbing against beauty
pinned in the drunken,
dank doorway.
And he realized he wasn't time,
but was the remnants of time.
He was the one left behind,
languishing
tattered and grey.

On love.

The easiest part is waking up first,

With my head on their chest, my knees curled up to their legs.

That is the only time I think I have ever believed in love,

On any man’s shoulder with

Some soft morning light filtering in

I always think, “I could stay here forever.”

I always kiss that shoulder, softly

Without looking and

Dig out up my shirt and underwear

And leave.

boots rain and drinking.

The sky was seismic
cracked open pouring
rolling thunder and electric current
the pavement cool black glass
our boots stomping torrents
on the way to the bar,
the lights drawn out
beneath our feet.

in order to fall in love again,
you must unlearn all of your old habits.
You must take back the rituals and
stop listening to your ex lover's favorite music.

it's not as easy as it looks,
trying not to make the same mistakes.

((Cicadas))

sitting on a new future couch,
which is the same orange but a different size,
still exhausted but with rounder edges,
silken cushions that I slide off of invariably
after a long night, or at the beginning of a terribly long day.
the buzzing of the cicadas is reminiscent
of the summer we spent drunkenly
glancing into the fish tank that we had dubbed
"the ci-queda strong hold"
impatiently waiting for the moment the bug would
shed it's skin
so we could snap it up for photographs and sculptures.
We could have used all those moments for something else!
All of the cicadas died,
exoskeleton and all.

liz isn't gia.

liz isn't gia.
not the tragic destruction,
not the beautiful digression.
I was never the disaster you wanted of me.
I am nothing but the aching disappointment.
I imagine you seeing the piles of bottles.
the fridge full of half empty take out containers
from weeks ago.
liz is not gia.
liz is not the raging forest fire,
any more.
liz is the slow controlled burn.
I feel like the apex (or nadir, choose)
will never arrive.
The lowest point is never as low,
there is always lower.
And that's why.
You can not save me.
I do not need saving!
Not this time, not last time.
Surviving.
Liz is not Gia.

sine qua non

i jumped aboard your deadlock gaze

and i pushed you with one finger,

to the ground.

i said all the things I've never said,

i said all the most important tiny things:

all the pieces that make up

everything I've ever felt.

it feels as though we have been sorting for decades and

the file folders sit finally,

labeled neatly on our laps

anticipating our next move.

I jumped aboard your deadlock gaze

and I'm digging in my heels this time,

not letting it get away

not letting it wander.

you said,

give me three days.

these lapses are unintentional and

I'm not holding anything against you

because we are both the person

the other will be forgiving forever

in a world full of unforgivables

full of forgettables.