Bluegreen

This story
could be written
with satin on a sea of endless waves,
a perpetual dawn and dusk
with equal magnitude.
Forever and ever and
never again,
amen.

Let us pray
for salivation,
the sweat drips
from your lips
to my still beating heart.
Forever and ever and
never again,
amen.

May God
rest our souls
as our bodies
tear apart at the seams,
and we turn to ash
above the fire we've stoked
and left to burn,
unattended and untamed.

Let it burn
until there's nothing left
but our skeletons
and my teeth,
closed against your collarbone.
Forever and ever and
never again,
amen.

The creek that runs through
this God-forsaken town
is muddy and bloodied and
carries downstream
the dreams of our children
in meth-riddled households,
matchstick bedframes;
they shiver and shake.

I may very well die
in this airport.
It's a terminal disease.

Our efforts fall flat.
Our obligations fall
the direct defense
of the justice we lack.
Your rights, they may suffer;
infringe as we wish,
accept far too much,
complacent and tense.

I may very well die
in this airport.
It's a terminal disease,
and we're halfway to Heaven.

Maybe I am trying
this trickle-down love,
hoping that some
will come back to me.
There's no backup plan.

This fucker in charge,
he doesn't give a damn
about our people,
our lands,
our future,
our past.
It's poison we drink;
it drips down our backs.
This wound is gaping, infected;
we must stitch ourselves up.

I may very well die
in this airport.
It's a terminal disease,
and we're halfway to Heaven.

Maybe I am trying
this trickle-down love,
hoping that some
will come back to me.
There's no backup plan.

I feared those restless legs
would take you away from me.
I feared those restless legs
would take you far from me.

There are twenty million ticking time bombs
in the chests of this city.
I wish I could take a stethoscope
to every lonely one
to see how their pulse changes
when they laugh
or recall
how the love that they once had
has withered all away.

And I'll never go back.

This ink will scar my skin
with symbols of moments passed:
a lightning bolt,
a red balloon,
a sushi roll.

In dreams, I drown
in degrees I can't measure
and choke on mistakes
that I can't calibrate.

How many caskets have you filled?
Me, I'd say about three.
Each headstone reads,
"Here she lies" or
"Here he lies."
We purge in our own ways;
you laugh,
I prepare
for my next kill.
I binge every night.

And I'll never say no.

This ink will scar my skin
with symbols of moments passed:
a lightning bolt,
a red balloon,
a sushi roll.

In dreams, I drown
in degrees I can't measure
and choke on mistakes
that I still can't calibrate.

Why do we lay roses
at their headstones' feet,
when all we can do
is watch them die again?

My ears ring when I lie
and pull these covers to my chin.
Are your ears burning
like my eyes?
Shallow body bags line the frame
of the face you once swore
was so cute that
you couldn’t keep your hands
off.

Now it’s all
off.

We share nothing but
the silence and
the distance and
the purgatory
between what was
and what is
and what will
never be,
the Hell that our minds
mutually manufactured
and the Heaven that
lies in the
pieces of mirrors
buried in our carpets
and the vision of
your lips turning upward
with every dance we shared.

We belong to the pages
of all these years past,
to dates that bear the vaguest
sense of familiarity,
to names that we
can’t quite place,
to places that we
can’t quite forget.

We swore
the calendar
held more days
than we can recall.
The hours we sighed away,
the oxygen that
let you down gently.

We cut up that goddamn dance floor
like these Dakota winds
cut through my bones,
and the memories
are a dripping faucet
into a bottomless bucket.
They are the ringing in my ears,
the bags atop my cheeks,
the Hell that I’ve condemned myself to.

No, I no longer believe in Heaven,
because she stopped believing in me.

We belong to the pages
of all these years past,
to dates that bear the vaguest
sense of familiarity,
to names that we
can’t quite place,
to faces that we
can’t quite forget.

We swore
the calendar
held more days
than we can recall.
The hours we sighed away,
the oxygen that
let you down gently.

A life,
flashing before my eyes.
This was the best yet.
This was the best yet.

A life,
flashing before my eyes.
May you find your best yet.
May you find your best yet.

I hope in another life
I hope in another life
I hope in another life
we
decided
to stay.

Dreams dissolve to dust on this doorknob.
Couch is comfort; brain is bedridden.
Tattoos measure memories that we've missed.
These tracks, endless footprints I'll never kiss.
I'll never kiss.

You convince me that this life is what we've earned,
no silver spoon or privilege, just toiling
until we bleed, burning oil 'til the dawn.
And each heartbeat, a skipping pebble making waves.
Making waves.

I dreamed of greener greens
and bluer blues,
but all these plains and streams
just brought me back to you.

I want to believe
the next street,
the next county,
the next country
will satisfy our search
for the fresh,
for the free,
for the lacking,
for what's lacking.

I dreamed of greener greens
and bluer blues,
but all these plains and streams
just brought me back to you.

And all our passion and lust
has been replaced by dull justice.
We all know
what must be done.

But we're afraid to misstep,
to sacrifice our learned comforts
for the greater,
for the better,
for the good.

But we're afraid to misstep,
to sacrifice these learned comforts
for the greater,
for the better,
for the good.

I dreamed of greener greens
and bluer blues,
but all these songs and strings
just brought me back to you.

Our dreams dissolve to present
as we accept contentedness,
a thoughtless pattern
just to blend in with the rest.

A lot has happened,
but nothing's really changed.
You're the same rusty frame
under a fresh coat of paint,
a squeaky wheel full of grease.

These blues are bluer
than I ever could have expected.

I find comfort in these breaths.
I don't acknowledge coincidence,
and I don't hold out for a second chance.
I wish I could tell the mirror,
"This isn't the future you'll choose."

These blues are bluer
than I ever could have expected.
Bones broken to rubble,
pieces of a puzzle
that I can't put to bed.

Wave your white flag.
We are broken;
we are bruised;
we are sick;
say it how you will:
we are fucked.

We won't reach down
to pull each other up.
We'll just reach to
push you down even further
and stomp our brass boots
across your bloody faces.

This dream is a fallacy,
a white-washed fairytale.
What would Jesus do?
What wouldn't Jesus do?
He wouldn't bring the world
to its knees.

Hand in hand,
pulses in harmony,
we will rise together
against the hatred still thriving
in this chasm between us.

These blues are bluer
than I ever could have expected.
A lot has happened,
but nothing's really changed.

Time
will wear you down.
Flaws
exacerbated now.

Cracks broadened to canyons
by a constant, nagging scratch.
When will the ground
you sleep on
fall into the Earth?

I want to believe in more.

Tides
will drag you out.
Waves
reamplified now.

Coasts broadened to oceans
by persistent push and pull.
When will the shore
you walk on
sink into the sea?

I want to believe in more.
The horizon is the dawn.

The shoreline is a sunrise to me.

There is no immunity,
nor a vaccine.
We all may lack
authenticity;
they all have lost
integrity,
agreeable but callous,
a crow masked as a dove.

Ignorant willfully,
your lack of empathy
is alarming.
As a front-row Christian,
you say you'd give the skin
off your back for fellow men.
Your penance is worth less
than pennies to me.

Maybe this is how I'll die.
Maybe this is how I'll die.
Maybe this is how we'll all die.

This axe
will cut you clean.
Exposed
vulnerabilities.
Years broaden to decades
by a system set to fail.
When will the shoulders
we stand on
collapse into the past?

I want to believe in more.
The horizon is the dawn.

As these cracks broaden to canyons
and these coasts broaden to oceans,
the shoreline is a sunrise to me.

As these cracks broaden to canyons
and these coasts broaden to oceans,
her shoulder is a sunrise to me.

Her shoulder is a sunrise to me.