Monday 5/15/2006 12:10:00 AM

The trigger not my friend anymore. I took the stones this afternoon and laid them in a row. Preparing to plant them. Allow the weight of the dragon to grow. The fire it used to breathe what I miss most.

Couldn't we be that stupid again. How easy it was to stifle the drumbeat of consequence. Just what I wanted. Nothing more.

Everything less.

As every turmoil made its cycle and we laughed at it like engines with accelerators permanently depressed.

We could've gone anywhere, but here is what chose us.

Such an even death it was. I almost thought I was being born again. A thoughtless sunrise teasing the mountain tops into thinking they can reach it.

Every hour warned that I was putting explosives into candy wrappers. But then, I've always been sweet on destruction.

He had a heart like an octopus. Arms everywhere. It felt so good to be held. I wanted to know, but couldn't remember why I'd not let it happen sooner.

So many keyholes. Looking in on what shouldn't be seen. So many exits pretending they would let me leave.

We went there. Never imagining it would go with us. Everything it gave took twice as much. But even so it seemed a fair trade.

Scaled the fish. Broke the shell. Lost fins everywhere. We watched as the empty tide continued to pinch the sand. And I tried to accept, but never really could that what we had taken from it was not going to be replenished.

What can I say except that it would've hurt so much more had I been myself when we met.

There's no better feeling than knowing love held a gun to your head and you let it pull the trigger.

It's just May. How much higher it rises than I can. Every year. In every way. Moreso when I remember how long it's been since.

We held those broken shells in our hands. And saw how each piece used to fit.

I'm too old tonight, but this morning I was young enough to know.

How much farther time intends to take us. How all those shards we have made come back together in different shapes.

You're just a bird in your nest. And I look on not understanding how those wings could ever be a convenience.

That they only ever let you fly such short distances seems a crueler fate than having never been that high.

5 comments:
Anonymous said...

http://www.rjgeib.com/thoughts/writer/writer.html

Beer is good...

alcoholic poet said...

true.

and beer and xanax is even better.

but there are even greater things than any of them, they just don't sell that shit at any stores.

Anonymous said...

molson and xanax, my favorite...

alcoholic poet said...

you have good taste substances.

poor taste in poets.

Anonymous said...

http://www.poemhunter.com/charles-bukowski/poet-6832/

Your a pretty good poet, maybe you just don't know it...



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