Cut Your Path Through The Night Like A Troubadour On Fire
the light
becomes
solvent
against
other things
a war is only
people second guessing
themselves
a body
can tell
if you're lying
the best stories
are never written
they sit
alone on bar-stools
thinking of home
trying to pinpoint
that moment
where things took
a wrong turn
is there enough
love here?
what is
the atomic weight
of a memory?
do words care
what happens
to us when we
can't find the
right ones?
there are people
who find themselves
well loved
cared for
and there are those
whose wounds wont close
who leave blood on the car seat
and can't catch
a ride home
to save their life
we are loved
a little at a time
in portions
in what a person can stand
people can't stand much.
Poet James Diaz
In The Next Life You Are Unrecognizable
Where the word in you
came apart
and laughter
was the cruelest sound
you say no one
is spared
but sometimes
you have been
when no one
including yourself
was looking
midnight stretched its fingers
around your throat
like a father
you couldn't outrun
the space where your silence
searched for its counterpart
a stifled scream building its muscle
in the dark
who knows
how much life
may come
your way
when you least expect anything
when you are most beaten
the softest touch
the one that never happens.
Thousand Yard Stare, on the inside
Move this burn
a little
closer
any place the sun touches
scar lines follow
a haunting
is all of those things
you left unsaid
ghosts in the halls
of your voice
what pain brought you here?
did you really think no one would notice
how un-intact-
how broken you are?
This Boy's Life
Put yourself in your own shoes for once
pull at the sky like it was mother on fire
I mean lover on acid
which version do you prefer
the one where it will all be alright
or the one where we all die in the end
I had something for you
but you never showed up
and I go places too you know
back and forth
I've been in handcuffs
I've had the rough stuff
people have been afraid to get too close
and when they did I surprised them by being gentle
I have a low, girlish voice
but the hell in my stomach
would stillborn your life too
here's a short list:
blood on the wall,
mace in the eyes and down my throat
straight jacket
thorazine injections
tied to a board and left on the floor drooling
raped
leg smashed by a mother, age 7
father dipped his bloody hand in my glass of water
and I watched all that red swivel as I it poured down the drain
family feud shoot out at age 9,
told to get down on the floor while the inbreeds brandished rifles
out on the highway
you have no idea what you're capable of surviving until you do
loss works against us
and there is no guarantee
any of us has what it takes.
Secrets & Hallway Trash
The man down the hall is picking up trash
by the elevator
and singing to his sweet Ida
dead now for eighteen years
Thomas tells him it's creeping out the new residents
but all he ever says is “what can I say, I'm in love”
I'm smoking on the fire escape
thinking of Kentucky jails
after midnight
the dice and the heat of the room
piss and sweat and no way out
the boy who blew his fathers face clear off
with a double barrel
the heated fights over fruit juice with the family killer
that's how I learned to never back down
by crossing eyes with murderers
and coming away with the good stuff
“sweet, sweet Ida” lingers down the hall
against the smoke of the wallpaper
you can hear his shaky hands holding him steady
and the sad beautiful blues of that man
makes me want to cry all night long
maybe getting old won't be so bad
just maybe.
This Aloe, This Burn
body bending
through
the slant of
shattered light
I never understood
what to do with myself
these wild
overgrown
inner weeds
choking growth
if air existed
I never had
any of it
in my lungs
I couldn't even say
I love you
without a crack
opening up my face
like an atomic memory
held under water
till it confesses
I did those things
I suffered
laid out on highways
at 2 am
no-forbearance
throat sucker
full of rage
cutting in
and out
of this damaged skin
how do you do it,
live this broken
from the start?
