Tagged: Solitude

APPARITIONS

written february 2017
Granada, Spain

crashing through the bedroom “door” in typical grunting fashion, fighting back the plastic laminate and lifting the blanket pinned to the frame behind it, I stumble into the little hovel i’ve fashioned into a solitary living space — curtain, window, desk and chest of drawers, radiator broiling bitter oil and threatening to set the place aflame. These items stand stoic round the single bed shoved in the corner, positioned as if guarding sentry against the devious nothingness that steals in every night and hogs the tattered blankets: the only thing that enters here other than myself.

imagine my surprise, then, as I toss my keys onto the table and unshoulder my pack looking up just in time to see you there, stretched out on that tiny plank of a bed. though the dreams i’ve had of you have often kept me warm and helped me pass the winter nights, never did i have so clear a vision of you here — lounging somewhat comically, one leg extended fully to the edge of the bed, perhaps a little over — your head propped up on one hand, the other resting on your hip, sumptuous as a curvy mistress posing stacked in lingerie, clutching a can of whipped cream cooing “welcome home, honey buns.” But it’s you, just you, in your sweater and your jeans, glint in your eye and your gaze on the doorway, waiting to surprise me. flew all this way just to find me, hunted down my address, broke into my house… that’s fine, that’s all just fine with me.

but again, the shock. i draw a sharp breath as my head jerks back to get a better look at you — just in time, as I said, for in that flash of time you’ve vanished. again i’m left alone — certain but shaken, gazing blankly at the imprint your body left pressed into my shoddy bedding.

my boy, my lad, stop haunting me.

only three times in my life have i experienced these visions, if that’s what you want to call them — unearthly flashes almost too vivid to possibly be a product of the mind, the conjurings of shining eyes and wet lips parting to murmur all the half-truths I want so madly to hear. perhaps it’s some sort of miracle: to love a person with such delirium that the heart, mind and eyes set to collaborating, constructing human forms from dust and longing and poor lighting. i like to think it’s not a symptom of a broken mind but I know I shouldn’t jump to conclusions; when a mind is born broken, so are each of its careful creations.

there was one time on the subway in Berlin late at night, my brain full of fumes in the flickering jaundiced glare. i was the only person on the night line — then looked up and bam, there he was, clear as day though so clearly not, gazing hard at me with those sparkling blue eyes, transmitting everything he never said that night when I left him. I dared not to blink as I knew he would vanish so I sat there, swaying in my seat in that hurtling yellow tube, waiting for his dimpled smile to slowly lift his cheeks, and I could not move or breathe as I watched him — that’s the rule, see. twitch and you break the cosmic balance. reality comes busting in and sets the scene to neutral. everything you ever loved will vanish in an instant. remember, remember: remember not to blink.

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MISTS

you are
nobody
you are
nothing
you are the
absence
of bodies
and things

you are gone
from my skin
like a mist
or a phantom
you rose out
left some stains
nothing more

the clouds are red-black
and the wind
cools me down
i haven’t felt
the wind
in ages

NACHO

hey nacho
send some more pics of your
stumpy pink dick while you
hold it at the base with your
unwashed sheets and empty
walls in the background and
the the tv tuned to some
sports channel that
shit gets me so
wet i just
can’t
even

(2/2)

I cried for you in the kitchen last night
before I remembered
I live alone,
just like I wanted.

SAYONARA YOU LITTLE BITCH (1/2)

in the summer you said you didn’t want to be
another one of my guys that I write about
so let me keep this brief:
you have a horse mouth (neigh!)
and horrendous taste in music
you are small
yet the biggest coward I have ever known.
I could mention your pecs (I admit
they were nice)
or the way your half-assed chimney beard just
didn’t sit right on that horsey face (though
sitting on it was just fine)
or that awful tattoo you got when you gave up
all your dignity as a person (I guess)
but all that just makes for shit poetry.

actually though
just in general
you as a man, you make for shit poetry
not because you’re short or weird-looking or because you think it’s hot to shave
your entire body
“para que se ven mejor los músculos”
but because you’re boring and you just kind of
suck ass

oh
speaking of sucking ass:
you fucking gave me hemorroids with your mouth before I left
(one last gift, he said —
enjoy)

I will remember you always

especially for that

LEAVE HIM SLEEPING

though he may watch you just that way
with narrowed eyes, a bitten lip
the taste of metal, scent of sweat
though he may say it perfectly
I want to make you bleed —

leave him sleeping.

though he may twist you
pin the hands and bite and growl
gouge you out just so
though he may tell you
you are my only need —

leave him sleeping.

when he tells you you are wrong
but does the same himself
when he tells you not to hurt
but draws the blood himself
when he tells you pretty lies
but keeps the truth for himself

leave him sleeping.

and when you hear her crying
though hidden she may be
clutching at your arms, your teeth, your brain
and begging listen — listen please,
don’t go forth unblinking, turn and
see her, take her with you

but leave him sleeping
leave him sleeping
leave him be.

EN AZUL 

heat rises. stay high.
be resourceful. fuck a
guy from a beach
town above the water
level but heed the
tide ye lunar whore

the seasons change all
over even if the
weather doesn’t and even
if you don’t. still
the dampness invades more
than just moldy bedding
and old walls. breathe
in. you will feel
it if you can
feel anything
at all.