Reaching the Exit First

How can you tell me that this is so important to you?
Oh dear, I've always known you were lying about something.
Oh dear, how naive.
Oh dear, I am angry.
Oh damn, I thought I saw you moving.
Oh shit, it's just you breathing.
Well fuck, you're not alive.
Um crap, what's the next step of my plan.

Oh, I didn't expect you to start living again
not after I killed you like that
so my plan stopped when you stopped
but you haven't so I'm still going
but there are no more directions
so I'm fucked

again.

And now, the sun is punching through
and the guitar is playing in my head,
the first chord like a brief smile
however, looming and pointing to dispair.

If I had boxes, I would pack them
if I had plates, I would break them
if I had grudges, I would hold them

but i don't--
I've got white knuckles and a really shitty situation,
and this beautiful song playing in my head.

sounds like I've got life.

who's waiting for who to quit breathing now?
because I've already started walking away.

When I'm Taken Back, It Seems...

Hair on vinyl, dammnn
Yes, I realize how religious this is--
You know what this means to me?
It means hearing a car door,
walking out on the back steps
as she climbs over the fence with friends,
and we whisper while we sneak cigarettes,
whisper while we sneak glances,
in the dark you can’t see eyes,
or you can but darkness really means that it’s sexier.

Oh it means so much more that just “This is good work.”
It means, “Can I come over? I need a friend.”
Hell yeah, come on. Share my bed. Here’s some food.
Let’s listen to some records.
It means, “Beth, I have to leave town.”
Sure, where do you need to go?
It means, “Come check out the new carpets I got in my car.”
Okay, let me grab the Visine.

And it simply means that I’ve got connections,
that there is something more powerful
than what you’ve been letting on,
means that I’ve got this brief case cuffed to me,
and there’s money inside and I’m resisting,

means that this is truly the only way to get off
you’ve been lying or unknowing or completely ignorant
this entire time,
but that’s okay, I’ll give you another chance,
if you at least come over and listen.

It means chances, it means forgiveness,
it means, “It’s all okay, let’s just do this,
why the hell not?”

I feel like I’ve come back to the lord,
where’ve you been?
Had your back against the wall?
That’s cool--I’ve got something for that too.

How Many Times Before?

"You should know how breath taking you are,"
Thanks, man--but I don't want your breath,
and I don't want you to give it to me,
and if you think I'm pretty--
don't tell me in forms of my beauty taking something
from you,

"I wrote this for you, what do you think?"
Your form is brilliant, the rhythm is fantastic
your wit is profound, shiittttt.
I hate that you don't write like this in all of your poems,
I hate that it is about me,
I want you to erase it and write it about your mother,
tear it up, I am starting to hate you--

maybe you're the one taking breaths,
because suddenly my lungs can't sustain flight
my wings are bound and I'm standing here horrified

maybe I wrote this for you because I ran away
before you could turn around to see it was me
maybe I wrote this for you because I feel obligated
to return the favor, of course, this is different
maybe I wrote this for you because you're the same
and it's easy to write a piece I've written

something like
fourteen-fifteen times before.

When you are in motion,
does the sound repeat back to you,
are you aware of your own life?
I don't want to be your form of life.

Writer

The last night we spent together
I was standing still in the lake waters,
at sunset, the clouds fluttered like curtains
the sailboats approached the docks gently,
each wave sunk my feet deeper into the course floor--
second by second brought change,
I needed to take in every change as it happened,
a sort of film in my memory,
this was something that would never happen twice
angered by my limitations as a human
unable to ever fully believe in this beauty
unable to ever believe in this beauty.

Suddenly, it slipped--
I inhaled until my lungs burst,
eyes open until lenses cracked and curled,
drinking and drinking until cells burst
listening listening listening,

and that's when I heard the lake calling me,
"If you leave your heart with me,
you know I will never betray you."
You would not know it, but I am heartless
infront of you yesterday, today, tomorrow

and I realized you were talking to me,
standing next to me, thigh deep in your pants
water lapping against you,
I realized you had been making me promises
and spitting beautiful lies and disjointed plans

it's not that you weren't brilliant,
it's not that you weren't charming
it's not that your eyes weren't little windows

but your existence is not as dynamic,
explosion, permeating--
but the lake promised me
but the lake promised me

Go ahead, ask me if I'll be back
Look across the bay, you will hear whispers.
Writer, I am there wading, running to the horizon

and if you stroke your thumb across the water
I will feel you against my skin.

Rendered Connectionless.

So glad that ain't me.
Remembering what being a city kid is like
as the dark renders my legs red
from the lights naming greasy bars

or noticing grit between your teeth
sort of like stopping to think about your words
not smiling, trying to figure out what's breaking
in your mouth--sure hope it aint my soul.

throw all my quarters in the jagged edged plastic cup
of the three black men playing five gallon buckets
on the corner--there's some man with a swollen face
ankle length peacoat, and some trophy fuck strutting beside
trying to relate to the guys with the buckets and the drum sticks

just shut up and give them some money--
"You guys are good" under my breath, sideways glance,
drop the change
walk away.
Sure hope it ain't my soul that's breaking.

Stopping to figure out how a piece of street got in my mouth
rattling between my teeth, rattling against my jaw
thinking of how that man's ribs ricocheted gun shots
as he fell backward in to the street,
and when the light turned green--
traffic went.

My light turns green, lock my doors,
haven't pressed the gas yet trying to figure out
what has broken--feel for my phone, for the cash I stashed away,
it's there.
tongue gliding around teeth, feeling for holes--
all of my ribs in tact--
and the flap of skin fits perfectly over the wound,
when I fell off the curb, I didn't expect it to reverberate
through skin to muscle to gristle to bone to lips to eyes to skull
and dear god, it hit my brain and
the flap of skin almost makes the hole look like a dark crescent moon,

the light is still green, people are passing--
but what. is missing?

I've got a hole in my memory and a childhood to fill it,
DAMN RIGHT I'd like to start from scratch--
I've got a massive HOLE in my memory and a WANT to fill it,
DAMN RIGHT,
I'd like to fill it with sounds of warmth

but those sounds
don't come from no where,
--and all roads lead back to it,
don't want to press the gas
afraid I might blink and end up back there,

moments like these I feel like a scared kid again,
ducked down in the backseat, on the bad side of town
I think I saw that man die that day
in the middle of the road,

and the light had turned green four or seven times
before the police came,

in a sink hole, think it is my soul
that's slipping--and if it goes, it goes.

but I won't blink, and i'll look for flaps of skin to cover it,
but i'm not backing down,
not, going, anywhere
until this gets settled.

(rd)

Joey Lawrence

(WOAH.

http://www.angelfire.com/freak2/twizzledazzle/bloggy

The ever-lasting and original, Peaceful, Ceramic Warfare.
Just relived a tremendous amount of my life that I had forgotten.
This is better than the writing I keep under my mattress--
er, better than the box of writing I keep under my bed.)

Dear Delirious Lord,
Forgive me for my irreverence,
looks like it's a blood disease,
I quit looking for healing anyway--
I'll live with it, I'll live with it--
Oh the fury of misguided lust,
it was his voice, wasn't it--
I knew it!
you heard it too!
you're blushing.
Amen.

Like It Was Yesterday

I hated you as I desperately undressed you,
untying your tie to find it kept your head on straight,
slipping off your wing tips to find that you had skeleton feet.

What's it like to be eighteen and in love with a dying Man?
Welcome to the City,
marvelous visions of skyscrapers,
elation, sensations, what love--do I love this?--
but you know it'll kill you too, kid.
the exhaust will bind your lungs,
the stress is clanging on the walls of your heart
with wrenches--

and if you stay long enough,
his death will trap you too.

Woman with Skin Like a Lace Slip

She defines success, her earnings
between pleasure and bills
while figuring numbers she fumbles
her own breasts and wonders,
“When will I ever become a widow?”

She has to get married first,
but you can’t take yourself to the courthouse,
or stand alone in front of a man of God,
she opens up drawers of her desk,
to search for pens and look through photos,
“I thought there was something I needed here.”

Fabrications sound like melodies on her ears,
she tells people no and walks away unscathed,
tonight she imagines if she would’ve accepted the invitation,
she would be in misery at a table with another person,

One hand up her tee shirt, on her bare breast
as she opens the cupboard,
she doesn’t need to impress anyone,
she eats in her bed and listens to night noises,
“I remember my family” she thinks gently

As constant, yet seasonal, as the cicadas
or the branches of the trees undressing themselves,
she has trained herself to hear each leaf hit the ground,
“They fall on each other, they decay together,

they become the ground.”

It’s only ever few days that she thinks these thoughts
should be shared with someone else,
but then falls asleep and wakes up in the morning
scarless,
tearless,
forgetful that she considered sleeping next to someone,
her hand cupping her own vulva for a sort of comfort,
“This is mine,” she thinks her first thoughts of the day,
and prepares to become the ground alone.

Empty Handed

Something so diabolical about the way
the sun pulls you into a field of gravity
or maybe its a partnership between three,
the sun-the earth-and the moon.

all much bigger than me
and any sort of influence i might have
so i resort to not knowing simple scientific facts
telling you to go on your way
make your silly, foolish decisions

how can i compete with the universe?
to you, i am barely someone
but to the wealth of space?
well,
let's just say,
i know who & what you'll choose

and it's bigger and badder
and louder and madder
and you'd be so much happier
and
and
it's a lost cause
you're already drifting
into the Invisible Lost.

(circa--august? september? found in the back of my textbook. rd)

Not For Long

Freeze
In some shadow,
look left
look right
stare straight ahead
straining your peripheral vision
eye muscles aching
wanting to be super human
the thought of how this mess began
am i really doing this

right
now?

Hear them coming like wild animals
think of who you left at home
no one
see the dingy winter grass
smell the sweat off your skin

remember
remember,
what you could've been
and that you're running from fate
they're all waiting at home for you to fall
and break your skull open

everyone's waiting for the blood

it needs to end now,
how would a grandmother say it,
or a mother,

what words would fall off your tongue
if you hadn't bit the end of it off

and the reverberations of hoof beats
are felt in your stomach,

when the weakness sets in,
just stop.

you're weak.
just, stop.

what are the last thoughts that you'll have
"nothing has been monumental,

and I am not a monument."