warten

interminable wait
I think of the way you feel around mean
and beside me
and in me
I have waited this long;
why are the last days so much more
unbearable in your absence?

this is tearing me inside
to live this life of longing
confusion for what I want
and what you are willing to give
I don't even recognize myself
in some of my choices
not knowing if I can ever love
and also be true to myself

but when I see you
these questions will fade
all I will feel is your presence
and my quickening heartbeat
you will look at me with those eyes
a mile deep
I will melt into the moment
forget where my skin ends
and yours begins
it can't come soon enough

chill

there are moments you experience
and know you will remember for many years
I close my eyes and see the streaks
of clouds across the sky as it lightened to dawn
I will forget
the cold feet, the cold fingers, the icy bum, and the way my goosebumps were unavoidable,
but not the sky as it turned to daylight.

so many of me

I play many roles. I have many parts, many labels, many sides. Most people see only one or two. I am outgoing and friendly. I am a curmudgeon. I am exhausted but hyper. I am soft spoken. I am a good listener. I can't shut up to give you a word edgewise. I am professional. I drink at some shoots. I take photos in traffic. I hate when people don't pay attention at the wheel.

We are all so many people. It is impossible to know someone completely. When you aren't around, they are different, even in some small way, no matter how well you know them. It is what makes us ourselves. When you accept the "whole package" of another person, you also accept those parts you'll never see - and you promise to be okay with that, not to push and pull and starve someone out until they are malleable to your wishes. It is okay to be yourself; imperfections are loveable, too, and definitely don't preclude you from a life of love and joy. It is okay to share how you feel, with respect, and not feel the need to submerge your true self beneath the surface of the "you" that someone else knows.

We are all strong, and we are all weak. It's the self-awareness of the gray between these poles that draws me into you. I play so many parts, I can't help but being a little bit of all of these people inside me. No, I'm not crazy.

City

skyline crowds the dark
watch sunset waver to dusk
another day gone

Gone

Parts of the year have disappeared. I don't know where they went. Between sickness and struggle, I lost a lot of time.

It's like a time lapse exposure. The parts that resonate were painted in with a low-grade flashlight. The rest faded to black. Hard to watch another year wrap about without feeling a strange nostalgia.

Photo: OttoFocus

Leaving

amidst the scattered remnants

of the life I left

I recall seeing the clothes strewn on the floor

the occasional cigarette in the ashtray

half-drunk glasses of water on the sill

there so long that a film of dust covered the surface.

I recall the dim lights we supplemented with enough candles

to burn the building down, the romantic embraces and

the way you’d pull me in close as I stirred dinner

and, the large words you scrawled over thin paper

we lived on each other

ate the sweetness as well as poison

we each had to offer

my tongue filled your mouth each night

and I would wake up hours later

to find you slumped over the chair

more words pouring forth on paper

you grounded me

and while so different from the others I’d known

I found myself imitating you, as is my way,

admiring you

wanting to be like you,

so possessed by your passion for the storm inside

that it overwhelmed your life

I wanted to know what it felt like to be driven

and consumed by one’s work and thoughts

so that the rest of life, so often exploited to be important,

would become meaningless

the laundry was never folded

and I began to wash the sheets every week

knowing you would not

the dishes rotted until I rolled up my sleeves

and I pulled matted hair

from the drains of the small bathroom with the cracked sky-blue tiles

the ugly side of love disenchanted me

and no crushing wave of memory,

of the beginning,

could dredge up those first miraculous months of lust

our bodies entwined still

but my mind wandered to other cities and the life I might have

if I left you

I had not become you

the chameleon changed its look and ways

but could never truly transform

I could not embrace the recklessness and fever of your passion

and my attempts would keep me awake at night

cold sweat on my back

and racing thoughts that I, yet again, was wasting this life

I could admire, yet never achieve

I was not like you

I packed a small bag

the bra that had hung on the armrest of the sofa for three months

finally pressed my flesh again

and I roughly pushed my own scattered thoughts into a pocket

they were written rudely on recycled postage paper,

thoughts I could never have shared in the shadow of your brilliance

I made the bed one last time as you slept defenselessly on the sofa,

head back and legs apart

I looked at you and knew I didn’t love you

not for your plain humanity

or the fact that sometimes you don’t shower enough

no, I did not love you

because when I did

I loved what I saw in you

that I was really searching for

within myself

New and Old

copyright Kris Rodammer

boots

Sometimes I'm serious. Sometimes I'm not. Sometimes I play nice. But really, how often is that?

\

beached

these ideas rise up
swell and break on this narrow strip I’ve claimed
unable to discern between the
natural course
and the rage of the water
I’ve been pacing the sand
waiting for a grander thought
to crush me with its weight
wash away the rest of the unscheduled chaos
that won’t flicker out
when the sun goes down

who's that girl

© Chip Bulgin

wohin

It is hard not to wonder where this is all leading.

All of the choices that have shaped my life, the people I've met, those I've let go and why, the places I've seen... all of these things alone are anticlimactic, and I feel hollow when I look at the individual parts.

Where is this going? My path has never been straight. I've never been inspired to walk toward one goal, solve one problem, or achieve a particular standing. I can only surmise this is the foundation of this aimless wandering.

I know I will never wake up and say, "I've arrived." I will never be there. But only recently have I woken up, just a few mornings, and been completely at peace with the state of my life, and more importantly the exact moment I lived. Why has it taken me so long to be present?

Is this how is feels to wake up and feel like "I've arrived?"

move on

Another day, another city.




© Otto Focus

moody

© Kris Rodammer

envy

copyright Chip Bulgin 2011

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

envy is that bony creature
so malnourished and malicious
she might blow away in the wind
like thin bodies
tangled together
but to weak
to unknot themselves

2000

defense

sit on the bench
waiting for the fight to come my way
reason soothes my nerves
but I am always defensive
always have to explain my life and choices
or at least my loyalty to them

wait a moment
what is my obligation to make others understand
where do I fit into this picture
that they have framed
it should be mine
that I concern myself with
not the offense of another
not waiting for the attack
already long gone

drive on

© S Billups


this road is engulfed in mist
so dense I may have to pull over for a while
face the fear of defenselessness
and have to make peace
with the consequences
I stay calm and check the mirrors
already planning escape
should the road suddenly vanish
I realize it was gone
miles ago
and I’ve been grinding the gears over gravel
too much damage
for the mechanic to fix
in the short time I have left
carry on
watch the mist come and go
sometimes I see the horizon, so far away

breathe

sometimes I can't stop worrying


inside I ache for you
my bones are hollow in your absence
I left the space we had carved out
of flesh and stone
for each other
and you followed shortly after
I regret the choice to leave
but sometimes
even when I make a choice
I feel I have none
hands are tied now
bound until you
turn your attention to me again
inside I can’t help but wonder if

fill the space between the lines
finish the song
interject chaos into silence

sometimes my momentum
takes over the sacred moments
the quiet that heals
and the solitude that brings
meaning to the moments
I have yet to process

step back
observe
learn not to be so greedy with time
snatching more into these dirty hands
if only because I fear
the day there is nothing in my grip

wait a moment
be still and silent
conquer expectations and
revise plans
the best is yet to come

fear

rot in silence
you know when the ghosts creep upon you
and you won’t help yourself escape
I wonder if it will always
take such a toll
turn empathy to apathy
and corrode my will to do anything
but ferment these nasty thoughts
in memories of mistakes

there have been so many beautiful moments
if only I could let them
fill the space in which this
terror now lives
seething and scratching
like nails ripping the already bruised flesh
why am I stuck in this wretched place
instead of allowing
the sunset over the desert
rain and shine in Dublin
the tenderness of a soft touch
the fever of climax
or the taste of his kiss
take over my thoughts

sometimes I fear I am scheduled
to take the hardest path I can find
deliberately choose pain
over pleasure
I might live a beautiful life
full of loving friends
and I’d live it with sadness and apprehension
sometimes I don’t fear it
so much as know it

Madness

everything rolls, undulating ocean of moments
they seem unconnected but are
really tied to a picture
I'm not big enough to see
can't keep track of the madness
in each moment I am composed
but inside, reeling

be careful what you wish for
how damaging it can be
nails sink into flesh
trying to control the outcome
but chaos always wins

to see myself so differently
those placid eyes caught in momentary sanity
I know how to play the part
keep the boat from rocking
and put one foot in front of the other



Image from Joe Rooney

gray days when the rain is relentless
but you know the seeds are taking root
under the skin of the earth
translucent, bare shoulders
a glittering trail of water over the milky exterior
emptiness is the blanket cloaking me
not warm or comforting
but a silhouette against your hide
cover the soft noises with soil
fresh from the soaked ground
charcoal tracings over the blue veins
and the deeper afflictions
thin mental on the red flower blooming from my wrist
there is nothing beautiful a scream cannot disguise
and in your voice an urgent red seeps forward
drips into everything gray about today
seams ripped and resewn together
this tessellation, a pattern, this reminder
that every ache is less than someone else's injury
and the ground spits forth only good
and swallows the bad seeds back into itself

Spring season, 2003