Last Night on Earth

i text a postcard sent to you did it go through...

We are in the car, the three of us, him and her and me, after another fruitless day of "work," which consists of handing out advertisements for some wannabe Facebook, but hey, it pays. Having been exposed to full sunlight two days now, I am secluded by my agony. I feel like the surface of the sun. I look as if I've been in a chemical fire. He and she only tan.

you are the moonlight of my life every night...

He is singing along to Green Day. They chat casually, flirtatiously. Everything is familiar. I roll down the window, lean back, close my eyes. Bursts of light are orange from behind my eyelids. Orange. Black. Orange. Black. The rushing air feels better than I thought possible on my burning skin.

my beating heart belongs to you...

He says something to me. I answer absentmindedly, barely aware I am moving my lips.

i walked for miles till i found you...

I open my eyes. The back of his neck is just a little pink. Hardly noticeable.

i'm here to honour you...

She has said something. I have turned the volume on the world down. He reaches over to take her hand.

if i lose everything in the fire i'm sending all my love to you...

They smile at each other fondly, briefly, as lovers do. It's the little things. That is sweet, I think.

That is sweet? I think. What is happening?

Could it be that I really meant what I said? Could it be I really want more than anything for him to be happy? After all that I've been through, all that I put myself through, could it be this simple?

My heart aches no less. The longing and sadness are not diminished. This is not about me.

After all, it turns out I have a modicum of goodness left.

if i lose everything in the fire did i ever make it through?

Walrus Boy

"In the wee small hours of the morning,

When the whole wide world is fast asleep,

You lie awake, and you think about the girl,

And never, ever think of counting sheep."

I wrote last night, despite my very late hour of homecoming, which accounts for the dreadfulness of the writing. (That is the reason. Shut up.)

However, I had become a permanent installation on my bed by that time, so coming to the computer to type this up was definitely out of the question.

I could go on, but I know that I am now only stalling, because this stupid poem I have stupidly written is really very stupid. This post and the last may give out the false impression that I write a great deal about disappointed love, or romance, or that I am simply very emo, but this is not the case! Ok, I'm a little emo. But in all seriousness, I have experienced one great love in my life (am still experiencing it, will probably never get over it), and he. Well. You know how it goes.

He is back in town, and I saw him last night, and here is the result.

We madly raved of many things,

Of supers, sex, and Culper Rings.

You roller-skated up and down

The street, and then I pulled a frown.

"It's late," I said. "I have to go."

You never liked to be alone.

There's things I cannot say to you,

Like, "No, goodnight, I'm feeling blue."

You changed your clothes without a care,

Conversing wildly with the air:

Time traveling possibilities,

And alternate realities.

I could not find a thing to say -

My mind was very far away.

There's got to be a plane on which

There's been a mercy-driven switch,

Where love has swept up both of us -

A plane on which there is an us.

Feedback is appreciated, naturally. But, please, I am fully aware it's not very good. I'm not much for rhyming, really. I just thought of the first couplet and had to continue, as it made me think of a combination of "The Walrus and the Carpenter" and "Nature Boy." Does that need explaining?

"'The time has come,' the Walrus said,

'To talk of many things:

Of shoes--and ships--and sealing wax--

Of cabbages--and kings--'"

"And while we spoke of many things,

Fools and kings,

This he said to me,

'The greatest thing you'll ever learn

Is just to love, and be loved in return.'"

A Long Way to Go

The sky is heavy, so I am listening to Bach because it is appropriately moody.

Soon. Another end. Another beginning.

This is a cop out, since I didn't write this today, but here is the (very short) piece I shared with writer's group tonight:

            I’ve still got a long way to go, to get away from you.

(I love you).

            I ran to the opposite end of the space you occupied. (I’d measured only in cubic meters). But your face was still plastered all over my brain like someone had glued pictures of you there, so I never wanted to close my eyes. (I love you).

            I wanted to say that it wasn’t my fault – that you had led me on, but that would be to wrong us both. I know you too well. And you can’t change who you are. You’re so full of life, like a blazing fire, and I want to be burned by you. But I can’t get inside your circle of light and warmth. (I love you).

            We wrestled like children. (I love you). And when, under the curve of my arm, I thought I saw you smile (I love you), my breath caught in my chest, cause I thought for one silver-edged second that you might let me in.

            But you were miserable without her. (Still, I love you). And, How, I thought, How can she be so stupid? And all I wanted was for you to be happy, (I love you), no matter what happened to me.

            I thought my heart would burst – it’s so full of you.

            (I love you).

            When the words came they spilled out of my mouth too fast (IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou) and made me feel sick and I wanted to stuff them all back in and swallow them like I had a thousand times before. (uoy evol I)

             …

            But how pathetic – to be pitied by the one I love.

            The place on my cheek where you were gracious enough to lay your lips burned.

            (And still, I love you).

            And I ran. And I hid. And you didn’t try to find me.

            (And still, I love you).

            (And still, I love you).

 

            (And still.)

 

 

(I love you).

I’ve still got a long way to go, to get away from you.

Thoughts? Honesty is appreciated. Is this prose or poetry? It's like posetry. Well, that is the way this modern poetry seems to have turned.