Three new ones from the land of the Vikings.

on foot

i used to have pretty feet
and now they're gnarled
and summer colored
sandal tans and sidewalk dirt
and leather-like soles
from constant shoe abandonment
badly healed toe bones
and long chipped pink polish

i walked to get coffee and booze
cigarettes, food, and friends
to increase blood flow
and sober myself up
i walked morning-after hurt away
i ran for buses and from old flings
i tripped and i fell
and i stubbed every toe
i stumbled barefooted
and traveled perfectly in 4 inch heels
i was hunted and hunted
i was at the right and the wrong place
plenty of times

i walked the poison out
and i've got rib and hip bones
protruding thanks to it
but damned it the breaths
aren't coming easier

i could pack my bags and never come back
or i could throw my baggage out the window
and let these poor feet rest.


intention

i think this whole stumbling over our words bit can stop at any time.
it's been discussed and decided:
thing > fling.
and this most certainly was
and by all accounts still is
and may continue to be
A THING.
it's for a lack of better term or word
and certainly for a lack of certainty
and conviction.
the distance is measured in miles
and travel time
now.
it's everythign we ever took for granted
about each other
about said "thing"
rolled up into one big wrecking ball
a bird of prey, if you will,
though typically
you won't.
everything's the same though -
nothing's changed really.
save for my place of
residence -
where i'm calling "home"
this year,
for now.
but that alteration
that glitch in our pattern
that changes everything,
doesn't it?
unfamiliar words flying to
ears unaccostumed to
the admissions of the day -
a day, granted, seemingly
a week too late.
how many days were contained in that six month span?
how many breaths?
and what do you multiply that by to calculate the life-span of this new-found regret?
i am just as i was
right this second
as i was before this even started.
i remain the same human being
one to whom loyalty
is compulsary
and it's till there
beating away like
someone elses heart
jpumping blood to some place
or another.
and this is where the physical "there"
becomes a memory,
a facet in a long-winded story.
this is where we run into
late night calls
and a sudden bought of honesty.
where i become a commodity
my presence and self
coveted
beyond all previous belief.

but we've got our hands tied, don't we?
we've got steps
and hwole paths
to choose carefully.
sure we've got option and solutions
but not an ounce of confidence
in any of them.

so for now, the best conclusion we can come to
is that you've got some sitting
to do
some scenery to view
and some leg cramps to walk off
after five hours in a car.

i miss you,
i do.

welcome

and so this is God
and so this is home
so this is the ice age
we've all been praying for
so this is distance
so this is lonely
this looks a lot like
an empty inbox
a lot like words and hopes
all lost in flight
even before they got their wings.
so this is the rambling
you'll never hear
this is me knocking on wood
for too good to be true.
and so this is free
and this is lost
this is night-long
stomping across my ceiling.
this is the phone call
i'll never make
please listen carefully
please take down notes.
this here is what i'd say:
"hold onto that thought
and the reasoning behind it.
i don't want to steer you
or have any hand in this -
but YES
and please do."

and so this pen is all i've got left.