jake

so i grabbed his arm on the curb and said

"i'm sorry i touched your eyeball

but you were so beautiful

and it was so glassy

i thought you were a doll."

i stayed up too late writing this

i wrote this at 2am. i'm also noticing that whenever i write a song lately, the lyrics sound kind of folky. i guess that's not a bad thing, just odd. or maybe they don't even sound folky, but i hear them folky in my head so that just predestines them to become a folk song. anyway. here is a start to my maybe a folk song. 

plots of land fold into other like a pop-up story book

but you were always in the plot

i'm plotting routes to omaha because i still feel undercooked

and your stuck in my blindspot

there's no oven like your laugh, though it never raised any dough

i was raised in its warmth

instead of being teased by you, i'm humbled by the city's glow

and even younger than before

i'm just a kid in a brick building

but i'm getting grounded.

you're still my home.

my dad gave us goofy nicknames and my mom woke us up for school

my sister snuck into my bed

quiet sundays at a desk and lonely hymns in a church pew

they isolate me more instead

i miss the morning sounds of family, miss the nighttime sound of friends

the comfort of a memorized landscape

i miss the nippy kitchen floor, i miss my mothers favorite pens

the simpleness i thought i could escape

i'm just a ape with a moleskin notebook

but i'm getting braver.

you're still my home. 

i'm just a newly stringless puppet

but i'm growing bones.

you're still my home.

i'll return with christmas lights hanging from my eyes

and hanging from my home. 

blinking messages in code north to tell my eyes

come on home. 

you're still my home.

come on home. 

man feet

even when i paint my nails,

my feet still look

like man feet.

the sun's art

i pointed at a freckle
an inch away from his left nipple
"this is new." 
"don't worry, it wasn't intentional.
it doesn't change anything."
"it's art. the sun's art. and yeah
it probably doesn't change anything."
but still, i moved my head to cover it
with my ear. 
i could hear his throbbing heart
underneath the sun's meaningless art.
it rises and it falls
and he let that change everything. 
it rises and it sets
and it doesn't change anything.

I wrote 2 songs in 2 days

and it's been a bit of roller coaster. but i don't have any instrument to record them with. i did, however, record the vocal melodies of each. so once i get my hands on a guitar or piano, i should be able to work some magic. they are kind of cheesy. but so are feelings. 

day 1:

classical music

if i sent a card

for every time i miss you

you could have your own hallmark

you could cover your walls

with paper depictions

of how much i adore you

and i'll have a blue christmas

without you

because christmas has pine trees

and i'm pining for you

frank sinatra sings carols

and i play my kazoo

but through all of the buzz

i'll still feel bereft of you

you are classical, a classic

won't grow mold, you're wrapped in plastic

i'm just afraid we're not elastic

don't want to misplace this fantastic bond

so come on. let's put this mutual attachment 

in cement.

if your nose itched

every time i think about you

you would chafe the skin raw

like you do to my thoughts

i feel tender and sore

from our unusual closeness 

and it gives me fright

that we haven't fused

because fusing is fire

and i'm burning for you

we can try to prevent it

but the heat will get through

so let's just hold hands

and if they glue, then they do

you're are classical, a classic

won't grow mold, you're wrapped in plastic

i'm just afraid we're not elastic

don't want to misplace this fantastic bond

so come on. let's put this mutual attachment 

in cement.

you're classical

which means you'll never fade

wether you stay

and i sure hope you stay 

or not.

day 2:

things that i believe to be true but cannot prove

passion fruit tea is the only passion i receive

and even if i gulp it down, i still cannot relieve

the emptiness in my organs or scald away the residue

of the overwhelming flavor of the passion lost in you

a thing that i believe to be true

but cannot prove

is that my life could have been better with you

nobody else thinks it's charming that i brush my teeth

after every single meal, but some time i believe

i will meet another man who likes documentaries 

and i will knit him mittens and make him mac n cheese

a thing that i believe to be true

but cannot prove

is that you're gonna miss me when i do

but even when i find someone who's been looking for me

they won't have your nose, they won't have our history

i'll always remember the ache of my deficiency 

until i kick the bucket, i'll be breathing the debris

a thing that i believe to be true

but cannot prove

is that i'll never fully recover from you

facts and it figures

some things are just feelings in your bones
and maybe marrow is
only as accurate as
your average 8-ball
but i am nearly certain,
despite a list of pros and cons,
about this.

life lines

when we hold hands and

squeeze really tightly i can

feel our life lines touch. 

Running Into Him In The Morning

He looked at me—I was smiling, isolated, only my mouth and not the eyes or cheekbones or eyebrows like you’re supposed to do on stage.  Yet I felt like I was on a stage, hands hugging my hips in my pajama pants, poised accusingly next to the microwave as my coffee reheated, pointed at by the eyes of the guilty.  And me, just as guilty.  I stared back.

He was at the door, half a step away.  An orb of longing hung between them—they wanted to kiss but they knew they couldn’t.  He fumbled wondering if he should say something more, “Well…bye…everyone…”  And walked out.

Lis was a small hidden smile in the middle of the room.

The eastern sun blinked through the flapping blinds of the door.  There were bigger things.

all of these new things will soon be old

there's a painting to my left

of a lady and a plate of grapes.

her head is turned

so i'll never see her face

like i'll never see rachmaninov

live. 

there's a window to my right

where the earth is dimming

but the city is igniting.

i can't participate

because i'd rather observe

and i'm scared i might be flammable. 

Hi

Hi Candace.

UMN

all the bridges are vacant

because nobody says hello

or looks hello

and like the biggest billy goat,

gruff, tired, and the last line of defense,

i study architecture

instead of studying the emptiness

foisted upon me.

and i study

in a box, on a box

and i eat from a box. 

everywhere there are people

tussling their tresses, scuffling

too hip to pick up their feet

and it's cooler to wear gray

and disappear on bridges

and we fuck on futons

and shit in public bathrooms. 

Swallow (recently revised version)

I want to swallow your words

so I don't have to breathe

because I can' breathe around you anyway.

You tug at my heart strings

and twirl them flirtatiously,

like a phone cord in your fingers,

as you play chords on them.

around you my chords are always major.

I want to swallow your laughter

so I can feel, in my stomach,

what I feel in my stomach

when you laugh.