i could have told you.

you're all i could ever ask for. someone who asks, why me?

contextual acquaintance sailing

here lies the radiance of a paraphrase

forgotten specificity

amidst the non-sequitors and troubling musings

honor your circular habits

but there are no sign posts here 

there's no backspace

where we are in our second best suits

smelling of cheap beer and vertigo

we speak in fragmented spurts

and await the staccato retorts

answers and assertions

wring around the collars

fancy the lot of you.

and like most of you

it is only a flaw

to read and remain read

follow the lines like a jealous tea cup

no more porous or caverned than the last bit of sneering pride

with our previous conversations erased, left behind, 

i'm only to rely on memory, 

no space to wallow or revisit words we once wrote

only rewritten for my mind's draft

i hate the space between us.

i want to talk like grover and jane

day late witticisms and strangely uninformed stories

but i have no ink to fill this distance

i know i'd rather sit and wait

than sit and await-

these blank slates,

way too easy than interaction

in all its indisposed starkness

i want to be your phone call

your gentleman in static

still a lifetime away

hiding between these sheets of space

and the memories race

and the conversations fade

and the feelings replaced

and all the memories erased.

strings in composition.

steal my bones, i've never been committed to memory
only following trails and scrape marks
sparse heavy wonder
silk fine tuning

swarms of marine lives
blue fractioned farm frill

the anvil is a lightweight

meticulous paraphrased excuses

tempting for the eager to fill space
spanning time, as someone once spoke

where will you find yourself
in the lonely halls of the company of men?

snug, fit, coarse, inquiring, fashioned and young.

naivete is our solace,
our soft blanket
comforting and temporary once we leave our beds.

sides and preferences, compromises and settlements.

i've grown tired of my indents, slacks way too loose
tight and derivative

these conversations came to a pause.

oh, to wonder.

to drink, half empties and fill our glasses with hopes.

droll, folded clothes, suitcases packed in our heads
with nowhere to go.

soundtracks and films in foray.

i don't want you to leave, but i need to go.

undo this backspacing.

swimming backwards, no eyes on tomorrow.

post-after musings

in light of musical inspiration i've gained from a likely but unlikely source, i've begun finding myself again. the past few months have been physically and mentally exhausting, (not to mention emotionally so), but within that i've wanted more, reasonably more than usual, and finally i've begun writing again, propelling myself off a plateau i thought flatlined long ago.

i've also started up another weathered desire of mine, to start making art collagey type stuff again. i'm super rusty, but i want to start doing these on the regular.

it's true, i like girls. and fashion magazines thanks to my old friend dani. but between the new inspiration and my ever-so and neverending obsession with all things Robert Pollard, the collage hobby is a foot forward. so there you go.

unscripted

i spoke too soon
or too early

you're not ready for me; silver bearings

crept and kept
unexpected
game and sect

you're so fine
that i can't see
miniscule lines and boundaries
i'm alive
there's no key.
heart to walk, blind to sea
awash in our rhythm

no return
moving past,
free to concede

i can't be so competitive
with someone so borrowed and blue

we; chance romancers
burnt out and hollowed out carvings
for the picnicer folk.

you're too much, i'm too soon
and so we walk away
for the betterment of twos.

dwindle and fuss.

this year i've accomplished more and fulfilled things in my life i never would have expected to, moreso than any previous years. i finally came back to a point where i felt i could say i was happy more often and made changes to ensure i was on that path.  now, even with how far i've come, i've never been so depressed and unsure of myself. i get past  one obstacle and another presents itself. some days i feel like giving up. i haven't though.  and here i am writing to an invisible audience all the while longing to be heard.

here come the painbirds

oh mr. linkous, you know me to every inch of my soul.

i will write a thousand songs for you.

it's the only way i can release myself from this painstakingly proposed ambience.

if it takes my whole lifetime i will make it so.

if it lasts less than these moments, i will return to you in notations and flutters.

lasting, lost, expressive, billowing, whispering.

this is my one and only promise.