little luck
say you’re lucky
but
uncertainly
say you’re lost
but you love
enough,
enough to keep clean
Tag: poems
the curtain
illusion, please comfort me,
satisfy everything,
i can live peacefully
if you curtain the window
that i had flung carelessly
on the day i was sure
that i had seen everything
plainly in front of me
heaven and hell were divided
unevenly
but there i saw certainty
standing across the street
crossing was heresy
‘if only’, i told myself,
‘i hadn’t seen anything.
the curtain i’d drawn
were a wall to stay stuck between’
sure, i’d lose purpose
and with it gain apathy
but apposed to uncertainty
purposeless living is
sort of like being free
where heaven and hell
are divided by you and me
GHOST
GHOST
About ghosts, I said, it seems we’re at a bit of an impasse. It’s less about what I believe and more about what I claim to understand. STOP! For gods sakes, speak plainly. Honestly, i’m sick of the way you talk. Well, sure. I mean, yes, I am sure. Sure that you are. Truly, unremarkably, I am an unsure person. However, while you tediously, perpetually, seemingly inscrutably, constantly remind me of this fact, it has no bearing on our friendship. Much less our conversation about ghosts. Listen. Do you believe in ghosts or not? … Well first, I — NO! NO! SHUT UP. SHUT UP. NO. I don’t need your history. I know your history. Quit dancing around the question and answer it, do you believe in ghosts or don’t you! … I’m
sorry, he said. No. I understand. If it’s clarity you need then I will try my utmost. I breathed a deep sigh.
No.
Such a simple word; ‘no’. But as it spilled out of my mouth i felt an array of history. Rich, true, and honest, history. Untenably my own. No, I continued, I cannot bring myself to believe in ghosts. I do however– please, allow me to entertain my own thoughts … I do however recognize a ghost’s existence as necessary. And it is because I see its existence as necessary that I choose to live in unity with the ghost that I may not see, may not know, and may not believe.
the ghost in the corner of the room,
untethered,
unlimited,
rich in history,
withdrew.
writing 'Child.'
Child.
‘An honest man is always a child’ is a sourceless quote often attributed to either Socrates or Plato. I really don’t know. I had a notebook made of limestone paper and the quote was written on the front. I’ve seen this quote before, maybe you have too, and whenever I see it it’s connected to the faith or understanding of a child being something of a purity you should try to attain. Maybe.
Child. instead compares, contrasts, and pokes fun at the process of growing old. Child. was one of the things that I needed to write. There’s no creative structure, no real aesthetic, and it’s mostly void of any clear line that you could call poetry. It’s more like four thoughts that share some similarity with each other. But these four thoughts are interesting to me because there’s no honest beginning or end. To me, this reflects the journey of understanding anything. The first line is the first line but it may as well be the third or second. The same goes for any other line; understanding is an endless journey. The natural conclusion at any age is that to be man you must be honest. To be honest you must accept your own limited understanding and begin again as a child.
read Child. here
forget me not
needs, a garden of needs
insecurities; the eaters
live with me among my weeds
or redefine my features
all i am is here with me
all my deeds and futures
forget me not i rose to plead
uproot my paths and futures
LA
1/3
flick another cigarette out of your window
like an ornament
the city, a prince,
detests and pretends and sighs
/this is what i am now isn’t it/
2/3
god, this is what i am now isn’t it
a boulevardier,
just another star in the sky,
i, this great city,
am a cactus planted in the median of an interstate
3/3
LA, a miracle
an oasis
a paradise lost
and rediscovered
LA, i need you
unreasonably
and now i feel lost
and undiscovered
photography by Sallie Harrison
CHRIST / brother
CHRIST / Christmas Songs
b r o t h e r
in your new shoes
you
practice singing songs
at the piano bench
she was with you
too
in her new shoes
and she sang along
Father, my dear
hear
blessings in a song
as they call your name
beckoning you near
here
keep them in your arms
and as i write a poem
i hear you sing
i hear you laugh
so i write it down
in my new shoes
in my own time
and if you hear me now
sing her a song
give Him your prayer
rest in His arms
blessings ………. no. 1
rest in my arms ………. no, 2
brother ………. no. 3
