Pair of Claws.

I saw my mom in a hospital gown,
The news was on tv,
MSNBC,
Talk of making divorces easy.

Some guy who is balding,
advice with a ring on,
Sings his own theme songs,
My father proclaims, “He’s got it all wrong.”

I have installed in the waiting room;
Downloaded myself while
My coffee gets chilled,
A rumbling stomach but I won’t move.

The walls aren’t all washed the snow white of plaster,
I leave for a smoke,
A getaway from the old
Stale recycled air that fills my chest.

Outside the summer rain falls to wind,
Moves the trees slightly,
Ambiguously,
The ting of drops on tables out of sync.

I am not worried,
I am still distracting myself.

Stranger.

Somedays I’m convinced I know exactly who you are. Like truly, like as if I’ve spent real time with you instead of just data messages sent over wires and atmostphere and satellite towers.
I remember meeting you once,
The only time, really, that I’ve seen you face to face.
I was so scared of you, strangely. You were this quiet, smart, attractive guy. And I was a young, boring kid. You were reading “The Moon Is Down” by Steinbeck, Wearing a Death Cab for Cutie jacket. Playing bass guitar for Jesus in your black rimmed glasses. I was drawn to you instantly, almost as a lark.
There is really only one thing I can remember saying to you, and even then it took courage.
“I like your jacket. Death Cab is awesome.”
“Yeah, thanks!” and then back to your book.
I wanted more. I had imagined this sort of intense conversation sprouting just from a compliment. I hoped you’d notice me. I hoped you’d tell yourself about how nice I seemed or something.
But here we are, after many conversations and venting, and you’ve found something of mine to be interested by, invested in, but it is simply what everyone else sees-
My shell, my body.
But that is all. I am just my body. Never a word mentioned about my mind or my soul. Not a question asked or inquiry made. And yet I allow it to happen without a complaint. All I wanted was to be as intelligent or as intellectual as you, to seem compatible mentally,
But really I haven’t had the chance to.

I talked to you this week about how far we’ve come. How if three years ago I was told that I would hold your attraction (even as mundane and as much as I wish it were more than this) for this length of time, I wouldn’t have believed it. I reminded you of how we met and you had one thing to say to me,
“You were perfect even then.”
Something so beautiful, maybe the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me. And yet, it means nothing because you’re still such a stranger to me. I still haven’t cracked you. I know you on such a standard basis even after all this time. Maybe that’s for the best.

-A

I've Been Dreaming.

I’ve never been able to see myself from a distance.
Not five years, not tens.
Not five months, I’ve never been
Able to clearly see what lies ahead, future tense.
Rich, with a fine Gent,
Or a hippie with street sense.
There are some romanticized dreams, aspirations,
Traveling vacations,
Advertising destinations.
To sit in the shade and sip on some coffee drink,
To listen to you think,
With dirty dishes in the sink.
I want to help others in an unknown foreign land,
To lend someone a hand,
Drag the ending through the sand.
Maybe write a book filled with poetry of my own,
To call a house my home,
With kids in a school zone.
I’ll visit the city lights, but live only with the earth,
To find my spiritual rebirth,
With no concern of my worth.
I suppose what I want truly is peace or happiness,
Show love to the lochness,
To live, not to possess.

-A