ignorance is bliss.

Would I have been
better off
if I had not known
how wrecked I am without you?

Would it have been better
to stay on my
straight and steady course?

Can I move forward
despite this sinking,
sinking feeling?

You, the anchor
that pulls me
to deeper waters.

un-bend-ing.

You favor crooked pathways,
while I prefer the straightest course.

But can I reel you in,
or will I have to bend my footsteps to meet yours?

imparfait.

I have recently come to the conclusion
that I love imperfection.

I revel in filth,
in grime,
in the dregs of life
at the bottom of my tarnished cup,
in the Destroyed,
and the remnants of
beauty.

And despite all this,
I thrive on the ability of
the Good to bleed through
all of this.
And soak it
in some sort of meaning.

And that may have something to do
with the way I feel about you.

So, in my quest
to be more rational
about everything,
I've discovered that
verbal communication
is not my strong point.
The written word,
on the other hand,
may be
my best friend.
Complemented by intense contemplation
and the breakdown of
life
into its smallest components.

And time.

Oh, yes, lots of that.

poem.

Immortality
in black and white.
Serifed or sans.
The reduction of
all-that-I-am
to this collection of
disembodied words.
Can all-that-I-feel
be expressed
in a string of letters?
Or is this simply another
lame attempt at
leaving a mark?
A stain
that will be smudged out
by the next passerby...

breach.

A schism between mind and heart and body.
Refractory.
Irreclaimable.
Electric.
Oblivious, you are,
but you hold the reins.
You pull the lever
that rends me in pieces.

You tear me to shreds.

hesh.

"Love is blind,"
they say.
And I know that the body is only a vessel
containing truths greater than itself.

So why
am I so hung up
on exteriors?

biting the hand.

I’d like to think of you
as the mastermind of some nefarious plot.

A kind of demonic puppeteer,
pulling my strings,
sending me skipping towards destruction;
A depraved clockmaker,
winding my gears,
setting me ticking towards an explosive end;
Or even simply
a snake, lying coiled in my heart,
fangs bared and ready to spring.

But, no, you are no villain.

And I?
I am only the dog that grovels at the master’s feet,
begging for scraps.

Illogic.

If I ever loved anyone
for no good reason,
it would be you.

Now, that’s not to say
that there isn’t a good reason
to love you,

Or that anyone else
would not figure out these reasons
and therefore

Never let you go.

It’s just that
the way I love you
is in no way logical.

And Lord knows
I try my best
to be logical.

And I have tried and tried
to quantify this feeling.
To categorize it.

And fit it into a nice, little,
neat package.
Something presentable.

But there are some things
that can’t be shoved into boxes
or smudged out by the passing of time.

So I guess I’ll continue
loving you
for no good reason.

And perhaps that’s not
such a bad way to love,
or be loved.

Unconditionally?

the curse.

There's much more to me
than most people think.

t-----e.

I have this sore on my hand
that just won't heal.
And it reminds me of the wound that you left in my heart,
the piece of me that ripped away
when you died.

the secret i don't want to tell you.

disclaimer: The following poem was written before my GYN appointment -
in which I found out that I'm okay.

We flit in and out
and words pass between us and
the sharing of beers
is a frequent occasion.
And occasionally I consider
telling you
The secret I don't want to tell you.
But then your talk turns to
"gay men are bitchy"
and I don't think
I'm interested anymore
and actually I think I'll walk out the door
without saying goodbye.

And you will never know
about the lump in my breast.

leaving.

Autumn approaches.
Time of floating, swimming, tumbling leaves.
I watch as they fall away
one by one
until only a few are clasped tightly.
Held dear.
The questions once more arise-
Whether this sapling can weather
another winter?
To endure the pain of loss
and gain.
Again.
The mourning of what is irreclaimable.
The excruciating regeneration.

And why can't I be Evergreen?

or both.

Is your flower wilting?

Or is it just that my eyes are becoming dim?

they say no man is an island, but i think i just broke off and drifted into the ocean.

Thick skin.
Smooth and flawless.
Won't you crack and let me bleed?
Poreless.
Non-porous.
Is it safer to be dried-up and numb?
Or would I welcome
the sharp tip of a knife
slitting through these layers?
Splitting open.
The burst of this abscess.
And discharge of my choked-up tears.

rising.

This need bubbles up in my soul.
A feeling that months of hibernation
could not squelch.
A thirst that has not yet
been quenched.
An unextinquished flame.
I had thought.
For so long I had thought
that she had crushed me.
Crushed the small, quiet bloom
of my naivete.
A discarded idea.
A distorted image.
Turned inward on itself and
sleeping in the safety of the familiar.
How could I believe?
How could I have hoped that I?
I could awaken again?

dreams.

Like petals unfolding
their pale faces to the moon,
So my heart awakens.
Spreading out
to fill the dark night,
Reaching out
beyond the edges of consciousness
into Infinity...

loving you.

Loving you is like pulling teeth.
Perhaps only slightly more gentle...
quietly extracting the most precious of knowledge.

Loving you is a discovery-
A process, even...
pulling back the unremarkable, colorless husk
to discover the still, silent bud
that sleeps within.

Loving you is the violent shedding
of first impressions.
And the slow emergence of truth.

Loving you might be a little easier
if you would only pull back your drab curtains
and leave me stunned and blinking in the brightness that is you.

But perhaps the beauty in loving you...

is that it's not so easy.

for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.

YHWH.

You fill my heart
until I'm so ripe,
I'm bursting.

I lay at your feet,
ripped open,
and I am Yours.

Please,
I am fragile.
Do not crush me.

i think i could hate you if i didn't love you so much.

There's a difference between confidence and arrogance.
There's a difference between receiving and taking.

Your science has not disproven my God.
And I don't believe it ever will.
[10/26/07]

three. nine. five.

Why are you
the only thing in my life right now
that throws me off course?

Tearing after me,
shining your light on me,
and then snatching it away.

How does your light
plunge me into such darkness?

Why does your sweetness leave
such a bitter taste on my tongue?

it wasn't from you.

I received a letter today.
No name.
No return address.
The small rectangle lay mute at my feet.
At first glance,
it wasn't quite impressive,
and was almost tossed aside.
But in picking it up,
my finger happened to snag
the edge of its browned and peeling envelope,
and I caught the gleam
of shining sapphire underneath.
Without another thought
I hungrily tore away
the faded wrappings.
But, settling after the flurry of the moment,
surrounded by the drifting remnants of this frenzy,
I stood silently,
stunned, in the presence of my discovery.
And I find myself, for once,
speechless.
And all I can hope
is that this message
did not reach me too late.
It was you.

stifle.

Every time I see you
my heart clenches up like a fist,
sealing up its many cracks.

Because I know if it didn't,
this feeling would ooze from me
like a thick and sticky oil.
Because I know if I let go
the feeling would overwhelm me.

I stifle the trembling ache in my chest,
since to let you see it is unthinkable,
and to let myself feel it
would be suicide.

But when I leave you,
unclenching these tired muscles,
hopelessly attempting to wipe the smudge of you off of my heart,
only then will it all seep out,
covering me in a murky sludge,

drowning me in the viscid mire that is
love.

At first, I didn't like you.
I didn't know what to make of you.
You were too strange, too quiet, too different.
But now, peeling back these coarse, unremarkable petals,
I have discovered the soft, silent bud that sleeps within.
Can I rouse you, as you have awakened me from my complacency,
ripping me open, tearing through the hardened flesh,
surging through me like an oblivious beast?
Or will you have to discover your own strength,
the force
to will your flower to unfold?

immortality.

I barely knew you.
And yet, you changed me so profoundly.

Because I wanted to be remembered
the way you were remembered.

darling.

You're hot.
But you're not that hot.

Nobody is that hot.

crap.

I've tried to hate you,
or at least find faults in you,

but after all this time,
all I seem to be able to do

is love you.

my love.

My love for you
is punctured by apathy.
It is pricked with careless words,
littered with doubts.

My love for you is scattered
among others, more charming and beautiful.
It is clouded by unrealistic ideals
and obscured by selfish desires.

My love is not boundless:
measurable but unmeasured.
It is not endless,
and yet it endures.

My love is imperfect:
withheld for so many reasons, in so many ways.
But although I am broken, hopelessly broken,
you fill in my cracks and I seep into yours.

And two flawed beings
stumble along as one.

Lilly.

Lilly: more fiction now than fact.
Lilly: a flood in my brain.
Lilly: an idea, an enduring concept.
Lilly: the prototype.
Lilly: the whispering heart.
Lilly: the unexpected beginning and the unattainable end.

reverse osmosis.

I've had this realization... that I won't allow myself to be happy. I won't allow myself to love life anymore, because I'm too afraid of it fucking me over again.

Yes, I have been happier these past few weeks than I had been in a while... but at the same time, I know that I'm not allowing this feeling to really seep into me. I've put up this impervious barrier between me and the world. I don't want to get hurt again.

I know that happiness is temporal and pain is inevitable. I know that the more I have, the more it would hurt to lose it. But maybe allowing myself to fully feel even a few scattered moments of joy is better than closing myself off to it forever.

I love myself deeply, but how do I open myself up to the world?
I put so much of myself out there, but how much do I really allow in?

I need to have a love affair with life.

C'mon World, let's make looove.

almost happy.

But almost happy is better than a hopeless state of melancholy, which I've managed to narrowly escape.

I haven't felt this way about anyone in more than a year. More than two years, actually, because there was nothing fresh about my dying relationship in 2006.


The pins are still in my toes for another week, but the staples have been removed.

And then I'll be able to dance again.
(Well, eventually.)

surgerization.

I'm feeling melancholy at the moment... excessively contemplative and far too idle.

I had surgery last Friday... to straighten two toes since they were becoming painful to walk on. They now have staples in them and pins going through the bones, sticking out the top with round, bright yellow, little plastic tips so they can be pulled out in 3 weeks. Oh joy.

So I've been sitting around and thinking, thinking, thinking...

A sympathetic lesbian brought me chocolate last night, though, so that was nice...
Chocolate is good.
Also, Lesbians.