poem

I am writing songs that no one will ever sing. Songs that do not recognize themselves. And do not mean anything. I am writing songs that stretch and consume all my time. Songs that do not know where to stop. And do not know how to rhyme. I am writing songs that turn upon themselves as they go. Songs that require some patience. Songs that seem too slow. I am writing songs that do not know what to do. Songs that are impossible. Songs that I live through. I am writing songs that I am not sure that i can end. Songs I want to give you. Songs I am not sure i can defend.

poem

i cannot read this. i cannot read anything that is too close to the truth. i can only write it with my instruments and abandon it. but when you read it, i return. i become something close to a poet, but more like a man who was certain he could be understood, even if it was not by him.

 

poem

Here is the language I have settled on. There is no sleeping now. It is not possible when you know what the night is for. Here is the bed I will not return to. There is no city now. It is not possible when you know what longing is for. Here is the legacy I leave behind. There is no hesitating now. It is not possible when you have been given a body that does not quite fit, that wants to wear your scars with pride.

poem

I have no suit, no watch, and nowhere to be. For all I know, I am not waiting for anyone, but no one tells me anything. At least not what I want to hear. After a while, you stop waiting. You find a suit and a watch and somewhere to be, even if it is standing in front of a mirror wondering what it was that kept you so long.