I know it's been a while. It's cause I'm happy.

This morning, I awoke next to my incredible boyfriend. I sat there for a few minutes, quietly, thinking about the fragility of human existence, and I was suddenly overwhelmed with the beauty I continually find myself surrounded by. I welled up.

The way that things have worked out is beautiful. The way his hair sticks up in the morning is beautiful. The way he moves against me when he sleeps is beautiful. The way he sings to me is beautiful. The way he makes me feel more than adequate is beautiful. The way he breathes slowly in slumber is beautiful. The way I feel about him is completely, utterly beautiful. The way he leaves me speechless is beautiful.

I am the luckiest because of him.

Livin' The Dream

And then we sit.
Sinking further and further into this quicksand we like to call Couch.
In front of
A million different quips and requips and it all seems so funny but what are we really doing here?
Escaping?
Daydreaming?
Of course.
I am the Illusionist.
I am the one who minimizes school work and studies.
I am the one who makes responsibility disappear into thin atmosphere.
I am the one who magistrates the orchestra of rock and roll.
I am the one who works all morning and fucks all night.
I am the brilliant color blue and I am the ugliest shade of green.
This is a dream.
Wake up!
WAKE UP!
Wake. Up.

Now I'm flustered and frustrered and flibbed and flopped.
I am failing.
I am flailing in the ocean, just trying to tread water.
And yet I act as if we,
We are floating along in a clear blue pool,
On a purple raft,
Drink in hand,
Together.

-A

morningshine.

Morningshine

And in the morning glory moments,
Quick glances of mere frames in time,
Like grains of sand on winter beaches,
I see your dreaming eyes so peaceful.
I hear your fevered illusion as the sun illuminates your face with golden stripes from the shade.

I take great care,
Not to move or quake,
No sound or shiver or shake,
No reason to wake the magnificent dreamer.

And finally, after a thousand mere frames pass,
A fresh breath,
A slow, grand opening of the almond eyes.
The day begins like the blooming of a flower in slow motion;
A new life every morning.
A new revealing of brilliant creation with colors more vivid than even God imagined, almost blindingly beautiful.
But the new days never end in bruised withering in the cold water.
Never end with dismal or dying closure,
But rather,
Like the cradling of a child.
Or with eyes longing and calling out for the next flowers' bloom come morningshine,
You and I align once more,
Weary,
But hopeful for the waking frames to follow.
-A

City Dreaming.

Today is the first,
I’ve felt okay in
Quite some time.
Momma can’t speak
And daddy don’t sleep,
The Sun just barely shines.

But with the bad comes the good,
You were always the good.

Let’s run away,
Drop everything and go to the empire state,
Adventure out into the city,
New York in winter could be so pretty.
We could sing your songs,
Play for tips the whole day long.
Oh, I know I just wanna hear you play,
So let’s run away.

I’m feeling inspired,
On the whims of your voice,
I could take on the world,
But Maybe I’ll start with Illinois.
Falling asleep in front of
Silver screen dreams,
As long as it’s with you,
I’ve got what I need.

Axle.

Together alone we’re always exploding bombs.

I’ll keep licking and licking till your flavor is gone.

You shape to mold like the ultimate fools gold,

Play the game, play the hand until we fold.

Automatic shaking then awaking the throne.

A tablespoon of feather tickles me to the bone.

Just come on over.

Come over with me.

Just come on over.

Come on over with me.

Small.

I’ve got a constellation on my shoulder,
a few crooked teeth.
I forgot to shave m’legs last night and,
My eyes are boring,

But you don’t make me feel so small.

My life’s kind of a mess somedays,
I’m a lazy little shit.
I forget about the good stuff and,
Remember all the rips,

But you don’t make me feel so small.

If I could pick you up,
in a Piggyback style,
I’d do it to remind you that I’ve always got a while,
During sacred nights,
To watch your half smile,
And to tell you how much I like you.
And we’ve got two accelerators,
Jumpin’ up at our feet from the floor,
But I’d rather stay here ‘cause
You’re the only thing I feel sometimes.

-A

Solidarity.

An American dollar to my Ugandan shilling,
How I came across this golden purr,
A motorboat in the ocean of strangeness.

But until now,
I never felt good or bad,
Only strange and unprepared.

And when I found a piece of the puzzle,
A sudden turning of gears,
The teeth that fit,
And now I'm giving thanks
To the Ultimately Real
And to coincidental circumstance.
A merchandise line,
A Business Card,
Pancakes.
A fundamental, beautiful,
Instantaneous inner commotion.
A screaming and burning.
I knew it from the start.
An itch almost,
Something I need.
I find myself in a whirlwind,
Sadness doesn't manifest itself
No withdrawals,
Or at least not yet.

A sound escapes my mouth
Through the teeth of a smile.
It is permanent.
We speak of being surrounded
By constant romantic miserables,
A fear of the future,
And then a relapse of synapse,
Until collapse.
And I beg this feeling itself,
Never give way,
Never let me go, never hide or waver.
Just give me another adventure.

He was a man of rugby, with a smile of diamond teeth and strawberry lips.
He was a trouble maker and of quietus; kept his kingdom free of hassle. 
He was all I could have wanted, and still I didn't. 

Donnie Darkens the room and the television, the man next to me as a storm when I lay.
A problem of mercury. A strange scenario. 
3 AM and I turn over to his back, shirtless. Only a matter of hours and yet I already needed to graze my fingers. 
He was all I could have wanted, but I still didn't.
Two weeks, he sleeps through the rain. He twitches and jumps all night, a dreamer through and through. An offer for flavored smoke and ice cream. I decide an ultimatum. I am going to fall off this bed unless I do something. The cold hard floor and I align. 
He was all I could have wanted, but I still didn't. 

-A

New York.

There's a vision which clouds my mind.
A wild thought and a wandering restlessness.
The thought of you here,
Or me there,
Christmas time in the city.
A thousand buildings all lit
As if the flame in my chest is
Consuming the rooms.
But they are not the focal point,
They are simply man made portals
For paperwork and corruption.

I imagine myself walking down the drive,
Your hand in mine,
With a warm coat over my shoulder,
Along with the visible evidence of your breath.
But you,
I don't quite know who you are.
Even still,
After all these years I still don't know you.
And as the snow crunches underfoot,
I envision being taken by you,
Consumed,
Wholly and purely and without needing to
Prove myself.

And then as we walk there together,
Past the wooden dock and over the frozen lake,
We realize that maybe,
Just as the flakes of snow
Find their sole purpose in falling
And freezing onto more of these flakes,
So do we.
All we are,
Precipitation.

And then, there's this moment.

And then, there’s this moment.
When everything you believed in,
So truly,
So completely and steadfastly,
Is suddenly hurled into oblivion,
Quickly, quietly,
So that it slips away without a shimmer.
It leaves you torn and
Asking for answers and
With tears running down,
Begging for it to come back.
It leaves you shaking and cold;
From cumbersome fear and
Loss and love and
Everything as One.

Who do you go to?
What entity approached?
A reality check,
A blanket, a book,
The Ultimately Real,
A drink, a substance,
The graze of a hand
Down the small of your back,
A friend?

The strangest moment of your life.
And who you give it to,
This is what will define you.

-A

Some days and...

Some nights just before
Resting my head on cushions
And sliding my legs under a
Wave of blankets and sheets,
I catch a hint of that scent in the air.
The one that lingered from your cigarette,
The Pall Malls,
I know them so well.
I know exactly how they sit
In the breast pocket of your button-up,
And how badly I wanted to be
Wearing that button-up
That night after we danced outside
And we danced into your bed.

And some days after
Looking up into your blue eyes
And imagining your hand in mine
Under a silent sea of stars,
I begin to wonder why I ever left this place.
This home of mine where all I love,
Residing,
I knew it so well,
I knew it when I left
The first breath of a newborn child,
How subtle englightenment has
Burrowed in my soul and
Taken me captive through
Ventures down memory lane.

And some mornings when
I've forgotten how empty I feel
And I peel open my eyes to reality
and to work and to being gone,
I almost remember that smell of happiness.
That smell of convincing arguments,
Lobbying,
Still resisting temptation,
Still wondering sometimes
If maybe you weren't all that drunk,
How if even just a spark could
Become a flame in your mind
And singe the wick that would
Lead to me.

How things could be so different.

-A

blahblahblagh.

I bet he thought I couldn't, but I am.
I am floating on a current in the air that came from the words of your mouth.
I am two hundred miles away.
I am discovering an untold destiny and daydreaming of what would happen in a perfect world.
I am surprised to meet here with the sweet smell of curiosity.

Like taking off tinted sunglasses to see the real world.
Like traveling to impoverished homelands you thought you knew.
Like regaining your faith in the ultimately Real and humanity.
Like walking into a room and feeling as if nobody can see you.

I thought this place was hell, but maybe it's just shady,
And if you ever stop here, you'll know that it's a craving.

I must have run for selfish embarassment.
I must have fled from what is tied to my heart.
I must have loved something far too cumbersome.
I must have found a concurrent lonesomeness.
I must have traded him for everything.

And now I'd like to trade it all back.
-A

Taj Mahal.

Among the wild and the music,
I am calming you down,
I am rubbing your hands
I am dancing with happiness and drunks.

The first few months i've gotta deal,
He doesn't care for me anymore,
I wondered why I was even here
And that's when you noticed me.

We all seem to need a hand
Between the cig'rets and beer,
The headlights shining
When we looked up from kissing that first time.

Yeah we were embarrassed,
But you put your arm around my back and we
Separated in the store before
Nosebleeds and red dog. 

Your paintings surrounding,
Made for conversation damming,
Words flowing, pulses growing,
Until I came to terms with reality.

(This is really happening, yes,
This is actually happening to me.)

Well you closed your eyes 
While I took you over to Bengal,
You liked everything you saw
Because we felt like rockstars.

And now i'm on the train,
Some mileage away from
Running my hands through ginger hair,
From smelling you in the air.

Meet, Greet, Repeat.

A moderate sense of longing has become my parasite. It is devouring its host slowly and with an unforgiving attitude, an overshadowing and an encompassing of all other things; a longing for somewhere to call home finds me and is bent on me. In the last few weeks before leaving my friends and family, I found myself asking the same question a hundred different ways- What is home? Is home a place to find refuge within the arms of loved ones? Is home just walls and wooden beams, a place to stow your things? A place to install yourself and download after a hard day? Somewhere to simply sleep? As I join thousands of freshman in the United States and elsewhere who are moving and creating a new life, my idea of home has begun to slowly evolve and take shape.

After moving in, unpacking, meeting, greeting, connecting, I find myself in an unexpected slump. Perhaps it is all of the forced friendships composed of names and hometowns tossed out into the atmosphere and quickly forgotten. It could be the lack of male interaction on my particular floor in the dorm. Maybe it is all of these things combined with the realization that this semester may indeed kill me, and that I haven’t found my sense of belonging yet; I haven’t found my sense of home.

Time is on my side.

-A

Temporary Leave.

You must be the sweetest thing,
The sweetest thing I’ve ever seen with
Bones of ice and eyes of green.
I could watch you endlessly,
Play guitar and sing to me,
I always am the one to leave.

You and I are metal shards,
Robots who rust in time and chords.
oxygen and atmosphere,
Our eyes are next to go, we fear
All the time that passed us under,
Was enough to make us wonder.

Why we were even here at all.
If we were ever here at all.

We’ll count away with the clocks
Discovering where this plane stops,
And I will clutch the weathered rocks
Until they start to mold and rot.
But triumphantly we will shout
“Give us back our pride and doubt!”

Why were we even here at all?
Were we ever here at all?

-A

Home.

I was driving home tonight when
I passed by your old lake house.
We photographed the lightning skies.
We devoured all the rice.

You dont believe in me, still.
All I was, scroll and quill.

Your mother told me all about
How she almost gave you up.
She cooked us dinner and she
Gave me a budweiser swimsuit.

Yes, it was so odd to me.
To know all about that phase.

All I wanted was to carry you home
Amongst the birds and telephone line.
All I wanted, to make you smile,
You never even let me try.

But you and I, we crept on by.
Along in silent sleep.

I know how strange it must be,
To read me like words from a book.
Obviously wishing to be
Something I can never percieve.

We clap our hands amongst the trees,
I hoped that you would sing to me.


-A

Behhh.

I thought you meant it when you said
You'd like me in your New York bed.
I thought you meant it when you read,
"You're my first love, born and bred."

I cried myself to sleep one night
It was this week, you were out of sight.
I cried myself to sleep tonight,
I couldn't move from cumbersome fright.

Your hands move, your fingers shook,
I knew I loved you with a single look.
You can have me like jems for a crook,
I know you can read me like a book.

I clapped my hands you sang your song,
I laughed beside you all night long.
You always thought that I was strong,
I should have known that I was wrong.

-A

I am?

I am
in love with a hundred different people.
If you could outsource all your daydreams,
You could store them in my database,
Installed at the bar at your workplace,
Download and decompress to my face.

I am
Forced to settle with being lonely,
To accept that I’m a just a postcard,
But I’m content with being at least invited
To draw with your crayons that I’ve cited
To hear your music loudly on my right end.

I am
Driving down the parkway
With the thought that maybe someday
I’ll meet the family that lives at
The house whose street address contains that
Number that corresponds to my birthday.

I am
holding my eyes up to the mirror,
To watch that house pass my car door
I think that family could like me,
If we arranged some kind of meeting,
And I’d tell them about your daydreams.

I am
Concerned that I can’t hope for,
The day that you’ll settle down and
In that wormy brain you’ll realize
Finding love is harder than anything else,
Its not something you read from a book on a shelf.

I am
Sorry that you want me to be
Something that I can’t be,
‘Cause I’m on a hundred year repeat,
I can’t think just like you think,
But I’ll still be here until you stop me.

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