the ache that ate the flight of the heart

there was no
call.
there: smallish birds crying outside in the
giant oleander bush
a phobia of you
.
extremities and
how do i stop this.
this: you fly from here again.
in a drought I am rained out
and outward toward the sky

and inward pointing fitfully
there is a growing violence in my chest…

i thought we connected broken pieces
under the lights of both our
scared selves. now:
stars are advancing. a tree falls from the roof.
i thought it could be love but
you are burying me.
just by doing nothing.
or i do that myself.

elections are coming. it is
the era of heartbreak for some and
the era of validation for some and

i try to inform my heart but

i do not know where i stand
or where i travel as i sit still waiting.
and can a broken flightless creature
warrant being a candidate for you.

broken, just broken.

fucking random word thing

i thought i would randomly select a word:
it turned out to be wings. and here i am
the day after writing about us being birds and
embarrassed about that and
that was the random word. what are the sounds outside
trying to tell. you’re above me
wasted and breathing hard. i confuse you
and myself. oceans are and are not connected, right?

let’s try another word:
it turns out to be:
the. is there meaning at all?

spent the morning working, doing my taxes,
listening to bach and
thinking of you. the.
one more word:
modern. then intimate.
i give up for the day

universe of i don’t know what

magnets and fingernails and
a breath of dirt. and if you
rise up from the galaxy of fragments
let me know how.

how you do that and what iron did;
among the stones and blessing of
knowing each other in some small
way.

the universe shifts sometimes. are you there.
did you feel.

pushed apart and together; a brick thrown into
the ether of us. where?

why am i living a theme of flight

weeks later, i see the theme of you and
the previous themes of others, planes, the cars,
railroad wheels, gravel.

i never move, so
how can it be either. theme.

i send my attestation of melancholy. broken engines.
a monster lurks, an eagle crashes.
pigeons returned to the parking lot across the street.
there’s a budget of heartbreak we should all adhere to, but
my control tower has never worked well;
i know, i am reaching.

a crane collapses on a truck.
i watched a couple breaking into cars today.
let’s argue about robots, when maybe the real issue is
how can we all be better to each other.

and not leave so much. not so much leaving.

A Bonus Paragraph of Longing

i see you out there via the
travel of search. you watch. you read.
don’t respond. you could be right for me;
nothing more than a person, here
holding my fucking hand.

i dropped you off at a bank. i watched as you walked away.
and disappeared.

and could i be right for you? that is always a problem.
i sit by cliffs and ocean, gather the sun,
breath deep.

i have no answer but to reach out, until that moment,
maybe soon, when i lose the strength to reach.

kelp below. undulated heart. salted. bird fell into water,
and where, just where

the desecrated faith in you

tis the honorable season of despair and longevity
come to us with such grace and renunciation
so prophecy fulfilled,
beatitude and dread.

i was thrown into the river and floated.
today, i am shining and barren.

plague and hope.

tomorrow. is it tomorrow?
it starts to rain.

travels

and so you came from
hong kong, from
china.
to here. the better life. between
statue of liberty and golden gate. a
grand canyon of possibilities. i was one shortly.
but somewhere, an eagle flies over that gorge,
over the river, over the colors and the world.

if you want to land
here again, there is
ground.
it is the end of the
year. all is quiet, and everything
is fine.
be well. please, be well.