A Mind, Lively and at Ease • RSS • archive • LMGMD

The Real Surprise

The real surprise wasn’t the extent

of the riddle we’re made to play

or the hard loops, and horse hooves,

that we beat into the clay day to day—

cause at a certain point work is expected,

in fact, directed, blindingly toward us—

little bunny feet frozen as our doe eyes

watch the car slam us side-

ways, scared beyond any recognition.

Nah, it’s easier to sneak up on prey

if you act like you’re the same

pussyfooted, insecure child of hope

and sincerity. What a shame, when you

realize it’s our own kind that cause the

most damage and inspire the worst

torment—hurt the biggest part of

you and dash away any pride in

yourself to the point that you even

wonder if you ever had a heart to

begin with.

Could it be that you opened the gates,

and lo! Behold! It’s not a neighbor,

and those you considered lovers are

large, hollow and wooden presents

that only burned you from the inside out.

So, when you find deception watching

a movie with you, knocking back a few

in your kitchen, or smiling demurely in the picture

they made you take…

once you see it, hiding in plain sight,

you promise yourself: never again.

And that’s not even it! Commiserate with

me, that it’s your own family of friends

that can become a society of fiends.

Usually you blame yourself.

There was a left instead of right.

Yet…

No. The surprise comes slow, grand,

a floating barge coming into port.

That you let it happen again—let someone

in, held them at any height, gave them

the right to call you at any hour of the night,

attributed them with the grace you always

desired and never achieved,

loved them,

cared for them,

wished away their worries with every tear

you had to offer,

warmed them with the only kindness

you had to give,

but never once expected as much in return—

only… as you grow dizzy, and the

horizons of your vision turn filmy

and opaque, and your own breathing becomes

a loud turbine in your ears,

you see the snake bite in your wrist from

where you were holding their hand,

your last thought began, “I never

should have… again.”

But then you do.

And you will.

And the real surprise is that you actually want to.  

Wrote this a while back. First thing I ever performed in front of people. It lacks a little substance though. Kind of generic in a way. I definitely was thinking of the generic when I wrote it, all loved ones in general, so I guess that comes through in the text. I haven’t decided how I want to revise it, if I want to at all. Surprising how my viewpoint can change so effortlessly within a matter of months. I was satisfied with it then, but now I feel like it could convey a lot more. 

The Second Night’s Rising

The steady squall of crickets

outside a double window near wishing time

accompanies the summer

nights. Lamps dimly

light the walls with yellow warmth

as a fan spins aimlessly above 

in abandon, while the bass beats

borrow your ears for their 

calm reassurance of life’s pursuit.

Thunder, not loud but a small reminder of

existence, calls to rain and wind

and a slight transformation

occurs within sight, each

scratching, stretching,

licking our lips, restless for

the drawing night and its overbearing might. 

Haunted, auto-mechanically so, 

our brains fix onto their fears, 

gilding everything near with distaste. 

To run, beyond the pouring, until

we’re too tired to conjure those images,

too exhausted to hear our own torments,

we wither with its oppression, the obsession. 

We desire its complexity, fully knowing the 

effects, laying bare and shivering

in its wake, willing the end and warring within

for each others’ sake. Prettily, we pout

frustratingly without and in doubt.

We isolate ourselves to these gathered worries,

last to initiate despite the hurry,

walking away—surly

in remorse. We break ourselves, cracking

before another’s hand can. We’re set

unhappily apart, tables, chairs, and streets, 

solidly playing monkey in the middle,

neither able to start, this art, until

you realize your odyssean mission

towards home: your fingers wrapped 

with my own. 

Orange Camoflage Tents and Other Oddities

I was writing letters.

I was dipping

the pen in ink,

and all I can remember

is throwing

  those papers

     away.

Your kisses

were letting me know

that someone could love me so,

laying your head upon

mine.

You were so divine;

     now you’re always in my mind.

I was never worried.

I was sure you

were fine, and mine.

I was never afraid

of loosing

your love

  someday.

She let me know

where you were found.

I couldn’t believe

  my ears,

or the words that

  were said.

I never imagined

     you dead.

Google Maps

slimmest changes

     chances

of geography slipping

or mending

   a sudden overlap

   of tectonic plates

overoptimistic

   I can picture the

view from satellite signals

the meteorologist

     forecasting miracles

only a fool can believe

   can perceive

the lie within truths