i’m glad i no longer care
about things that only an asshole would care about.
We may not have much reverence anymore, but if we did then we would have love.
ALL LOVE. Not only a fraction of it – not just accidental love –
Not just love we fell into – not only the best of it –
What we need is reverence.
You can only “outgrow” someone when they aren’t willing to grow with you.
To believe we did the best we could, is valid.
But sometimes that’s a cop out.
every moment with you. every moment with you. every moment with you. every moment with you. every moment with you. every moment with you. every moment with you. every moment with you. every moment with you. every moment before, during, and after. before, during, and after. and after. and after.
You’ve got to get past yourself, to love.
You have to get past your past.
You have to see good. ALL good.
I need to keep growing.
But I don’t need to keep seeking and seeking.
i began to feel that home was not a place.
home was wherever my love was.
for a brief time, home was a person.
i want to say that the home i have now
is just as good.
Don’t be afraid
It doesn’t matter what you have to say.
To the wrong person.
I took photographs of the long row of palm trees in the way off distance that we’d soon enough cross in the car.
The palm trees looked like fairy flowers, the kind you pick and blow wishes off when you’re a kid. Like dancers of all different heights, lined up in unison. Like the way your heart feels inside, when free of comparisons and worries.
I watched you as you talked, for the right moment to take a photograph.
The first lights of cars on the other side of the freeway began to flicker on. Dusk was not that near. Some must have been daylights auto-sensing impeding change, prematurely.
I focused on the line of your jaw. You looked handsome but I didn’t tell you. The landscape flat, the clouds thin, orange trees and wiry weeds to the sides.
I wanted to talk to you about music, but didn’t. I was tired of feeling stupid. I do it to myself, I guess I find others to confirm it.
Later, once we’d settled in to the cabin, once we were walking, the mood was about to shift.
I sensed the irritation when I lingered too long at the top of the hill. I love you, I thought. I’m sorry. I had to take more photographs.
I’ve never seen clouds like this in my life. It’s special, I’m sorry. My heart was sinking. I had to get the pictures. I tried to take them faster.
I recall the gorgeous picture of the palm tree in LA, the one you’d sent me in the very beginning, when we first met. Large imperfect leaves reaching into irregular directions that collectively balanced out into an odd symmetry.
Not a banal snapshot; it captured a wildness. It wasn’t about the tree – it was the way you had framed it in the shot. Your style of looking. You get it. You were speaking my exact language. I thought “this is my man.”
I don’t know if it was on purpose or an accident, the innate sense of choice. What’s called an eye. Or maybe not even that – maybe you just understood how to capture a feeling.
“Why can’t you catch the next flight, I’ll pay for it” in a smile I could hear over the phone.
I don’t know if that was the real you, or if this is.
We have different sides of ourselves. I guess I held the sides of you, that you’d rather disown. I held them along with the rest of you, with all of you, or I tried so hard to, but from your point of view, maybe, there was only one side to be on.
It just, wasn’t mine.
Artists are immature. Artists just need to grow up. It’s just, not very adult.
I didn’t understand.
It was all a mistake, a misunderstanding.
I focused the shot on your silhouette in the light. Beautiful.
Hurry up, I told myself.
The earrings I wore
like tiny weapons
Off the shine
Like sunrises flash
Through the curious
Peaks of your
Clear eyes crossing
The table. Summer glows
Off weeds outside, drills
the roots in so deep.
Our history envelopes
One glance, gone
We share a glass house heart.
A new sap trails off peaks we’ve been.
Sofrito and crème fraîche fall
Over thick red meat
And we saw something there
Really worth drowning for, then you
Face south. Like curtains dropping
Over a river, eyes
At the border of beef. Each cut
Slowly sawn I watch. Edgily
Feeling it out. Then,
Without saying anything, you
And took off the checkered