good goddamn

sometimes pale-faced lovers

kiss while sitting on sidewalks.

sometimes they hold hands when they

walk

and sometimes she smokes cigarettes

and talks about god&her dreams&fears

and the queer looking couple from down the hall

spoon at 3 o'clock in the afternoon 

while they say they're taking a 

nap

and sometimes she'll swear he's crazy 

because of his hair&his gods&dreams

and others just fuck.

because they don't give a good goddamn 

about anything anymore

so they fuck so they can breathe

and they fuck so they can sleep

and they fuck so they don't have to feel anything anymore

and sometimes it's like i don't want to feel anything anymore

so fuck.

but let's take a walk down god's spine

where ever the hell he stops we'll build an a-frame and call it home.

and sometimes i take off my jacket and set it on the floor

as if that is the place where my jacket is always set.

and sometimes i talk my self in circles until i'm dizzy and

i can't breathe

and sometimes i get drunk to find god

and sometimes i find him

and sometimes i find him.

i laughed when you told me to laugh
because that's the appropriate thing to do.
yes?
yes.
yesyesyes.
my heart's been hurting for some time now
but it's nothing
that a fresh pack of cigarettes
can't cure
and it's nothing
that a bike ride through
a snow covered field in mid-march
can't cure
and it's nothing
that a dozen fresh picked dandelions
and a fistful of dirt
can't cure
and it's nothing
that a new pair of shin-high
elastic socks with the blue or red stripes
can't take care of.
but don't take care of me.
i'll be just fine
because i've got my cigarettes, bikes, flowers, and socks and i'll always be just fine.
but i've been running my hands over the ground
turning my fingers brown from the mud
and i've looked through the leaves&diseased&thebirdshit.
but it still feels like a 3 o'clock after-school sitcom
so don't take care of me.

of course,

ofcourse, ofcourse.

of course it would snow my first day back.

the gloomy clouds of the rainy city

decide my every move.

curled up in a blanket 

waiting for the bags to unpack themselves

ships engraved in ceramic cups

and the first cup of coffee of what 

seems to be the first of many long nights.

and i'm stretching my legs 

hoping that the gods will bless my right hand

and i'm closing my eyes 

hoping that my love will bring me a coaster 

so i don't get those irritating circular stains on my desk from the bottom of my coffee cup.

so tell me,

how am i supposed to get her back?

because all i want is to be able to hold her again.

and it's snowing.

and i will always think of you.

listen:

old crow medicine show- hard to love

brand new- degausser

oh! my anchored heart. oh! my steadfast ship.

i want love like 1964.

i want to tear down doors and throw open windows 

and breathe new air like it's the first time.

set sails west.

and be blown into the setting sun.

love like the bottom of a bottle.

love that stays up late only listening to deep breaths

i want air like the bottom of the ocean

where the snails and snakes 

crawl the ground searching for something to believe in.

love in the shallow sense.

love in the bottom of the wade pools 

where starfish and sponges paint the prettiest pictures

i want to sit alone at a table set for five.

with a bottle of wine and polaroid camera

15 candles and a box of bread.

sit until i find god.

or it finds me.

and cigarettes under streetlights.

and 40's in boxcars

and winter weather won't burn my bones.

and the holes in my shoes only bring me closer to the ground.

optimism is the best happiness i know.

and i have it.
it's been a while.
i may still be confused
and i may still be a fucked up kid [but who isn't]
even our parents and peers have their problems
but i have happiness.
i know that i am able to givelove and havelove and beloved.
whether it's you or not, i'm happy.
i promise.
and i have no regrets.
and i love you.
and i love you.
and i love you.
and even if there's nothing more for us beyond this moment.
i still have this moment.
and even if there's nothing more for me beyond today,
i still have today.
and even if this breath turns out to be my last,
i still have my lungs.
and even if my heart is broken,
it will still beat.
and my optimism will always outweigh my brokenness.
that is my promise.
and my cliche'd words will still ring true.
and i still have my god
and i still have my heart
and i still have my breath
and i still have today.
and in my heart i still have hope.

i want

to live like it's 1922 and a half.
my fucking heart hurts
and i got my hopes up again.
i miss my friends.
i miss hot showers.
i miss not waking up at 4am not knowing where i am.
i miss everything again.

here's looking at you kid.

there's a porno playing,
adding background noises
to my 2 am thoughts.
and it's hard to say
it's hard to put my finger on.
and every once in a while,
when i wake up.
and step into the morning light,
it gets hard to breathe
there's a moisture in the air and it's killing me
but there's a smile in your eyes and it's giving me breath.
i'm still having a hard time
believing your well-thought words
and i'm still having a hard time
think of the right ones to say,
i'm seeing yellow
it's different,
not better
not worse,
just
different
i'm choking on my words
and i hope you'll believe me
when i feign sincerity.
it's a smuggler's den
and the only way there is the cave in.