skin builders

 

Skin builders cannot hold grudges or move mountains, they cannot weep at the drop of a hat, or warm to electric fences. Skin builders must use their life to graft to smooth over worn out paths with a trowel, and wait for the blood to dry. Skin builders must be sane, alive and apparent, their eyelashes must not blink out of turn, their hands must not reject what repels their minds, they must understand each murky tunnel as it strikes them blind. They must have hearts of putty and close their minds, they must walk on the fringes of daylight, they must slave on the terminally hopeless, they must waste away as their charge is consumed, they cannot seize gauntlets or smile unwary smiles, they cannot love indiscriminately or hope to be appeased, they cannot watch for signs or wait for goodnesses to pour in, they cannot shape sand or repel water. They can only hope that life sometimes takes away all the knowledge it gave, they can only hope that some kindness will return with their skin sometimes

 

skipping stones

 

boing boing when did the wabbit start, skating across smoothly just an instant on a stone just an instant in a place, whoosh, cartoon quick, he cannot stop to think, water flows swish, slick, why don't they sink they're the wrong kind, boing whoops he almost went belly under, is he a swimmer, is it weird water, what's weird?

starting with the start, does this dance go all the way to the bottom of the deep blue sea, why are them pebbles afloat, what is this buoyed up game for, am I watching because he skips stones, or did I come here to learn, his big clawed feet pump up and around, is he getting somewhere fantastic, or is that underwater? can it be?

blink hes moved, blink, hes left, hes tilting tilting, applause, hes balanced again, a little water sprayed around, no harm done, what's done?

he's grinning, the wascally wabbit, he's getting better, faster, slower, faster, slower, what's better?

skipping stones is easy when he does the long jump, skipping stones is fun to him, to me, arcs of water splash up happy, acres of water watch with me, what are they thinking, they're not doing anything, what's doing?

no questions asked, no answers needed, a world from points, what's fun?

I found an ocean, and the stones just sorta appeared, whats a wabbit?

 

port to port

 

Like all beings, I like to be heard, I like to be understood

But my voice is not in my throat, so try not to look there

I am one of the kindest and cruellest people you are likely to meet

I have only one speed, I do not stop. I may join your path, you may join mine, it will be only for a while, it will only be my speed

I am daylight, unfamiliar each morning, harsh and unrelenting, and warm

Do not close your eyes too long around me, when you open them again, I will have left

My universe is so vast, it will take me my whole life to look around, I will not wait for you

I will smile when you come, I may shed tears when you leave, you will never know. But my hands will never stretch out, my mouth will never call, not even for show

I am antisocial and rigid and undiluted

I will break your heart and disappoint every expectation you have for me

You may break my heart whenever you choose, don't try to glue it back together

 

who else was here

 

of course it would be you, cannot have train wrecks without a train mdea, cannot have results without a few smashed bottles of acid, a few burnt strands of hair smoking in a storm of tears, cannot have these curtains and a view of Paris without endless dust glued silently under your feet, clean but don't scrape, cannot be everybody without deciding to be nobody first, cannot stop or stare at yourself for too long, the world cannot resist taking sides with the reflection, cannot wait for perfection or eternity, both are outside our humble hands, cannot dream of a yesterday and a tomorrow together unless you resign to today, cannot wait for people and places and things and ties, gotta swerve around with the earth with every ounce of concentration, cannot live with all the rules that form and morph every day, their makers don't know the turning earth under your feet, cannot breathe in regularly without a little twist of shock, lemony and quick, we'd forget how it goes, cannot mop up every last memory spilled out like roadkill, smelly and torn, cannot keep looking either, with such beautiful tracks around, cannot reach for the stars without a few more hands beside you, reaching, of course it had to be you, who else do you see, really?

 

Dear John Doe

 

I don't know you, but for the shape of your name on pieces of paper, bits and bytes. But for your face and body I see from time to time and try piecing a whole person from. Were I not fond of jigsaws, our paths would cross, touch for a while, recross with all of everything in between, and move on. But I wait as you move, eyes open wide until nothing is missed, and I am left behind. I know well this feeling after you, a kind of euphoria I usually place in a far more intimate time. I want to thank you without sounding in any way breathless, but I cannot, so more moments pass, between words not spoken and thoughts too loud to ignore. This ain't so simple as a crush, I have those once a week and enjoy them enormously, they are all discontent finding colors and shape, you are satisfaction, simple food. I am reminded of Pearl's masterful summation of the many kinds of men there are. But they are hers, mine I cannot yet define, written forays into complex emotion still unnerve me. So I will only call you a magnificent coincidence and transmute silent gratitude

 

beyond weary

 

this is why my eyes don't close, my pulse won't cease, this is life I dont want. These are robbers masked as life, unasked and sure, they fill silences with graves and come back for more. This is sudden morose growing pain, morbid and wan, a brave unhappy unease. This is a view from a cellar, a ground under zero, shifting and sliding, this is danger that can never fall away. This is trembling moss, quicksand, bright and brown, this is phosphorous on waste, sparkling and sure. This land is no land at all, this ocean floods no skins but burns like acid, again and again. Did you hear faint laughs and far off cries, they were all me, I am drifting further than your help, trying my very best to look sane and alive. and after dread and the casual mundane have silently wound together like dancers stopping for a finale, the wound will sink down into its careful nest and grow into me, new improved boundless and urbane. and I will smile, the light would have left, just the way it came

 

Mister Medusa

 

I am trying to break inside. this is not an open casket or a light source, this is my soul. It is convoluted and wary, brutal and quick, it hops off like a jackrabbit whenever truth and world collide, I am just a jailor searching for my charge. They arent big heavy bars, or Alcatraz, but my hands make excellent time and perfect locks. There are no visions and gratitude, no fears or faith, no hope or love, there are only moments that stay inside. I don't like floating inside them corridors or flying through them clouds, but I do it anyway, pursuit and capture, always unstill and demanding, are the root of my anxiety, the bane of me. And my soul, I wonder what he thinks. Oh he's a he, I used to call him she, but he didn't come closer, apparently he won't respond to flattery. He walks around, looks, all ready to stay and live each day, then I stand against him, and he's off like a shot, apparently one glimpse turns me to stone

 

and it happened

 

there were no omens this time. no crows cackling at secret jokes, when the rays of the sun fell just so,

no furry black kittens out of control, squeaking at shadows and crossing the roads.

There was only a calm uncertainty that fell prey to some sonorous truths. they simply never stopped echoing despite the madness they lived in.

No temerity, no fervor to hold, only the last remaining wish for a life well lived and the gut it took out to live it.

There was no one in this world left to ask, no one who answered, yet it was written in stone, embossed in gold.

It was condoned as time, understood as a kind of nought, like drawing a smile that doesn't exist, like explaining water to a drought.

It was an insane topsy turvy jar with a hole, shook and wasted and remembered and bent, it was only possible because we went along, and didn't stop to show and tell

It was only a little life, gratis, unspent. It was only tomorrow that peeped over the fence, and came true