Beware of regressive nostalgia
You may have “the way” figured out
But then, a new day comes along
And soon, “Get off my lawn!”
Becomes the sound spilling quick from your mouths
-a.r.
Painting by Jessica Foox
The inability to change with the times, to see new ideas, to have the courage to step outside the system, will inevitably leave you behind. You may be comfortable…but you will be comfortably archaic, comfortably obsolete.
I’ve had the wind knocked
Out again, perhaps it’s time
To stay deflated
-a.r.
Sculpture: Deflating Human Series
by Francesco Albano
A fly landed light on my hand
So we sat still together awhile
And when the rain fell
It seemed just as well
For neither of us took off to get dry
-a.r
Painting: A Spring Rain by Candace Primack
I let him in
Because she lead the way
Bringing him as close to me as I could bear
A corner stare
He does not dance
But waits, as if we both have time
To afford me this with her while I am able
A minuet of heat too soon unstable
His chill will have its way
One day, his steady slow approach is set
For now she keeps me moving, feigning immortality
As if his ghastly grasp is not already hovering
You see
I had to let him in
To watch, so at the end I could say
I also let her have her way
-a.r.
Reposted for a Twitter friend, who dances with life while death hovers closely…keep dancing with her my friend…he will approach soon enough.
My skin it does not want me in it
My flesh now rejects me outright
My bones they are being rebellious
My guts are refusing the grind
My brain is parading the reasons to care
My life-force compels me to fight
My story seems written regardless of choice
My breath; she pauses these things with her sigh
-a.r.
Photography: To Ride on the Curled Clouds By Nicola Taylor
I miss the sea
Her brine in my sinuses
Clearing, cleansing, leading me
Towards her lace, chasing
The weightlessness that lingers
Deep in my brain and bones
After floating free in her belly
The taste of her tears on my tongue
Disguising the saltiness of my own
Crystals glinting, coating my flesh
For hours after I have left her side
The tiny grit she leaves behind, tangling
My hair reminding me to let her stay
Thick, unwashed, and wild
The ache from who I was, unburdened
When I was with her
I miss the sea
-a.r.
Painting: Married to the Sea by Clare Elsaesser
Much too fast or way too slow
The felt sense of warm days I know
Family time and travel soon
My skull and skin with shrinking room
Outcomes stick in salty air
My stuff piled here as thoughts fly there
I’m good to go or not enough
This summer’s self-talk-shit gets tough
Packing and unpacking fears
Shared space distorting in the heat
With shoulders bare I carry effort
My shadow self in sunny presence
Whether I burn, or pale, or peel
The rub is that it’s up to me
-a.r.
Painting: Young Woman on the Beach By Edvard Munch
This is an edit of a previous poem called “Seasons Greetings.” That one was written in a colder season, but the shit I carry with me somehow stays the same.
The sun has not yet cracked the sky
But already broken I blink, I rise
Split and spilling before dawn
Last night’s crawlers ink themselves on
To the page from my body and brain
I cannot stay still with them wriggling
Sticking and prickling and sickening
My sleep, my diurnal functioning
Fucked up beyond all belief
I have become my own alarm
So all I can do is dump these worms
Until tonight when they return
-a.r.
Artwork: Worms by stuntkid on deviantart.com
I am marked
But I do not notice
Yet
The slightest pressure
Triggers an explosion
And a hollow point projectile
Slices the atmosphere
Slamming into me
Shredding upon entry
I NEVER EVER see it coming
I am hit in my blind spot
So hard I swivel
My brain sloshing
In my fractured skull
I am disoriented
What the hell was that?
My vision narrows to tunnel
I am suddenly sweating
From all pores
Profusely frightened
Blood is pulled from my limbs
I am numb
Shaking and cooling
My resources pumped and pooling
Inside my middle, vital
Organs filling for survival
And then
I am angry
WHAT THE FUCK!
I am sick of this
Trigger-happy culture
And the concentric circles
Of my psyche
Available for target practice
Whenever and without warning
Until I am left riddled with holes
Shreds of me swaying
In this stale exhaling wind
I cannot patch them
Fast enough
Before another flash
BANG
And I am thrown back
Again
Entirely
To the exact moment when
I said no
But he
Didn’t listen
And neither did anyone else
-a.r.
Painting: Tattooed Lady by Jennifer Davis
It seems I am at a loss lately
Half poems
Half truths
Half me
It seems I dream of what I’m not
Full head
Full fool
Full stop
It seems there may be no escape
But to want
But to wait
But to tolerate
It seems, it seems, oh how it seems
And still
And yet
And…
…Oh fuck it, I forget
-a.r.
Artwork: Portrait of a Self Portrait 4,
by Alexa Meade
sometimesihatemycat 