I write this many words to not write any more tonight.
posted by Adam at 8:06 PM [edit]
Villanelle para todos
Like you, just like you,
or a leaf laying colors on the land,
maybe I can fake it too.
I was too scared to demand,
as the faucet froze forever blue--
like you, just like you.
The guitar sits empty on its stand
while the drummer hits the skin on cue.
Maybe I can fake hit too?
My confession to the empty land:
I say things and then hope they're true,
like you, just like you.
Of course there are secrets and
one might lie right next to you--
maybe I'd have lied there too?
It's January. I understand,
so I'll just make my life anew.
Like you, just like you,
maybe I can fake it too?
posted by Adam at 12:00 AM [edit]
Don't be so negative
Not a letter, not an ocean, not this time. Not dinner,
not hungry, no one at the door. Not a time bomb,
no hot water. Not hidden in the tiny tendricles
of the tiny tentacles of an ant's inner ear.
Not riding a dragon, not wishing to tonight,
not dotting my eyes ever again. Not loud,
not barefoot, not in my room or out beautiful
on the street. Not calling Colin, not combing
the barn for another lie to put on film.
Not chasing ourselves into another year.
Not small enough to fit into the overhead compartment,
so small it could hurt you, not weaving or knitting
or chrocheting or however the fuck you spell it.
Not on time, years late in fact, not in front
of the computer from nine to five. Not bothering
to buy a ticket when a simple kiss gets you in
for free. No quarters for the meter. Not a letter.
Not sealed with anything. Not good enough to share.
Not whistling when it boils. Screaming. Forever.
Not stopping.
posted by Adam at 9:04 AM [edit]
Make it right/don't make it perfect
Under the mountain, down the salt road
the prince takes his horse to water.
Gone the city, gone the demons,
whom good always swallows down
like a glass of water. This is a story,
after all, and so we all win.
Make it right, don't make it perfect.
Don't kill it where it stands with water
dripping out from between its teeth.
Make it suicide, or at least fake it
that way--
--the detectives won't look any deeper.
Under the mountain, down the salt road,
which is melting even as I write,
the prince mounts up to go:
gone the demons,
gone the friends,
but still dirty the dishes.
Gone a life,
but still alive.
posted by Adam at 8:54 AM [edit] 