march something.

these are a little longer and isn't it odd how angst produces so much more than other things?

carry your own shit

why speak if i can't make
my meaning clear
or there's a share unclaimed?
this long chain of reactions
was forged by us both.
i have long since accepted
the weight of my failings,
but i refuse to drag you
and your share anymore.
what you helped to build
through complacence and neglect
you must now carry
through the slag that resulted.
i'll keep carrying my share,
no promises broken,
and when there is solid ground
i will still stand with you.
i wouldn't have followed
anyone else so far
or given so much, so
pick up that shit and
let's get on with the Quest.



too much resistance

the only opening i have
does not work the way
we most need it to.
i can't make it give
what's needed to
draw our little
majick circle tonight.
i suppose there is
a more painful option
but i think with
us wound so tight,
i could not lessen
the resistance.



reasonable diagnoses

none of the possibilities
are good, as i list them
again -- silent desperation
can be worse than death;
infidelity's a sticky word
at best; fear of future
responsibility, while understandable,
is out of character
and all if spoken
too easily misinterpreted
or thrown back to me
in some stupid game.
it may be these fears
are mutual -- perhaps
universal?-- but that
won't pry the claws
from out my poor brain,
that won't treat the
symptoms, nevermind help
with a reasonable diagnosis.



angsty about angst.

angst returns & with it
the words, o joy of
cycles of loathing. no
words for winter's
beauty or the return
of birds in spring.
no odes to the
children, who show
me the world anew.
somehow i have
the vocabulary only
for pain, for whining,
for bitching about
the endless tiny things
that get in my eyes
and gum up the works,
but seeing this gives
no new insight, only
deepens the cycle so
that if nothing else
i can keep the words.



wall scrubbin

the red aint washin off
i keep scrubbin and
while it's wet it looks
like i got it all and
then, soon as it dries
i see it again, i'm
startin to think
that the wallpaper's
stained, or i would
except there aint
no wallpaper in the
room.



the need

if eyes were hands
we'd be a lot closer
tonight, the hour
we are between
points A and B -- i
see what's to come
and i'm hoping.
i said give it
another week, i
know it would be
safer and yet
and yet
the NEED
oh gods the need.



(untitled, too short)

keep it mundane
and leave Truth to
find itself i think
but i got nowhere
else to stand.



turn off the flashlight
(warning: long)

first time you came in
puts me in mind of
the very first --
afternoon, grey light,
i was so young
but had the benefit
of knowing it
and i threw over
the few scruples i had
because i was afraid
to speak, but acted
to learn where you
were in the only
sure way there is.
with your hands came
illumination, the first
explosion of light that
i didn't cause, i was
drawn in fire
without shame
in the glare after
years of flashlit chagrin

and after we'd held every
piece up to those flames
you took me, purified
and clear after those
dark lost years, back
to the place i kept my
things and left, and i
saw that all that had
come before was false.
two months later i was
properly tempered, and
i ran. to you.
you pointed out my windows
and i saw it was summer
as if we had pleased
the gods. was there
ever better than that
season, when the world
was new when i looked
through you?

i have followed you
as you blaze our trail
into landscapes i hated
in photos, places i
swore i'd never go. when
you say 'let's climb this
mountain' i shrug and
smile and follow dog-tired;
but find my own hand- and
footholds no matter how
often you say it won't
work, and i prove time
and again i can get there.
i no longer have the
dubious benefits of youth
(or not so much)
but still after our cold
peak we find the fire,
and being near the flame
again i see us clearly.
and know that nothing's changed
so much that i'd stop
and go my own way -- i
still don't want to travel
without you, whether i
need to or not.