Hangnail

Never

get involved in a land war in Asia.

Now, discuss.

What, exactly, does involvement entail?

Involution, involvation, correction–

involvement.

Participation in something,

It’s sexier in Spanish but it gets the

point

across. Actions are central and

they speak louder

than words.

Actions make you

f

a

l

l

in love.

I’m the General here, you don’t

get to control the way I feel.

Field the army it’s time to fight back.

But in front of the rectangular blue glow

and the black holes it’s hard to steady

oneself.

Stuck inside pondering the 80-20 rules

underneath the overcrowded Spotify sessions that make

up the working hours,

it’s the face of a friend I see.

Get out. Just drink until you’re exhausted but

not until you’re drunk.

I’ve been told never get involved with the ones (physically)

closest to you. No middle ground.

Excuse me while I watch, excuse me as I slip.

You can’t hang on to the same bus pole as someone else,

this isn’t Canada.

So call the cab I’m taking–making–

an Irish exit.

 

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when a plane drives likes a car

In between two states–

Gaseous and solid. 

My organs oh how I’m worried for them!

Inertia is a powerful thing. So powerful

Newton named it 

One. 

You can’t turn back on one thing when you’re in the 

Middle

Of another–

Just like you 

Shouldn’t put

Half & half

From an airplane container cart

In 100% Ceylon tea. 

What kind of fake British move is that. 

The acerbic tone sets the mood sliding down my throat like 

Bad ashes

Or days old biscuit crumbs found 

In a 99 cent Goodwill jacket. 

I could just fly

If I cut this string. 

But the scissors are found 

Wedged in the backseat cushions.

You,

Like a naughty child on a 

Road trip to the wilds

Of the great canyon,

Won’t give them to me. 

Don’t play with me. 

We’re never traveling again. 

You’re not going to Turkey with us

Please give me my three inches of 

Middle

Arm rest so I can dramatically

Observe the spiderweb city lights outside my window.

Did you know the yellow signifies old age?

LED. White. That’s the future. 

And it looks like you’re not a part

Of mine. 

Pear and raisins are a thing of my past

So please join them,

Give me those scissors. 

I’ll see you when 

We land. 

Bars: A Venn Diagram

You alone. 

Quick breaths. Calming yourself as you walk in. 

You can do this. 

Might not be socially acceptable but

What ever is?

Pictures here and there

My hairs astray. 

What happens if they don’t like

Me?

Trying not to give off a bad vibe. 

Waiiiiiiittttiiiingg

For a drink of some sort. 

Don’t I get water?

The hours tick by. We’re

Still

In the same spot. Cooped together. 

Isn’t this gross?

Tumbleweeds on the ground:

Made of hair, bits of food. 

What’s not stamped down rolls around 

Pushed by the unwashed breaths of 

The inhabitants. 

Where’s the toothpaste?

What’s the time?

These lights are too bright. 

I just want to black it out but the chatter

And inevitability that I’m not 

Sleeping in my own bed tonight

Chases away REM. 

When can I go home? 

What’s the time?

The hours drag on. 

Then…the door opens 

Run out to the fresh faced night. 

Damn. 

Did I forget to call a cab?

Or did someone forget to pick me?

But it’s over in a split. And that 

Drive away from the bar–

Will be the sweetest thing 

To taste in the last 48 hours. 

One Cushion

Being adult’s the kind of thing you slip into–

Not like a new pair of socks. 

Those are comfortable. Safe. Warm. Made of wool. 

We’re all mad here. Hosting parties with glass mugs and silverware bought from homes

and gardens. 

We laugh about taxes and dental appointments that our mom did not make for us.

Someone sports a ring and the conversation does not revolve around quidditch

but dates and vendors. 

Who got their nails done?

My latest achievement was a year end review. What the fuck is that?

The boasts and brag and fine china

Showcasing our tastes and

Positions when our bodies’ 

Language presents a fact that we’re 

All teenagers 

Nervously walking around sipping wine.

Tremble

We were adventuring travellers or

Traveling adventurers

I don’t know

But I knew that we were when the car was stopped

So close to home

At 3 am. When the world was sleeping

And we should have been too

But we got out to wake with the stars and

Pushed through the cobwebs with silky attempts to deter us from going down to go up

above

The wooden planks squeaked like some sort of creature trying to jump our bones and even

When we lost one to the darkness we ran just

So

And We found him again.

Everything was quiet.

Everything was dark.

Like when you read a book under the covers at night and there was no light

except for the flashlight and when you heard

noises like mum or dad checking in on you, you put it down

so that the light peeped through the holes in your blanket.

That was us.

That stars came out for a bit, trying to hide from us but we saw.

The fireflies didn’t help their case either since they kept teasing us and making us on our

guard.

He said a few words and so did I and so did they but mostly we watched and

Even though it was

Late. And shadowy

We were traveling adventurers

Just taking

The long way home

Bedside Candle

I took a shower for clarity because after all

thoughts are best served with a side

Of conditioner

To smooth my ranging mind and calm my shoulders.

My hair and neck are full of knots

I can’t release:

Rinse

Repeat.

On this the eve of history I can either

Keep up juggling blue and red just likes the veins and nerves that make up my straining

eyes.

As they can’t comprehend what I see on the screen

Bed is calling. White neutral solitude that is

Mine

Alone

I’ve voted twice now today and

They’re both for me.

Sorry history but the soft mattress of the last normal

Night is calling me. Nestled in between

a rock and

a soft place –

I know what I choose.

Is the world really going to change that much?

Either way I’m still going to work tomorrow.

And that’s it: a bunch of me’s

voting for me’s who are

reflections of the me’s that voted for them.

Scary monsters, stay under my bed,

you’re only supposed to exist in fairytales.

So tonight I’ll light my fire

burning

red and blue

through the night, keeping the monsters as bay, risking the house burning down.

Who cares. You, me or I?

I want it.

I got it.

And we’ll see what happens when I wake.

Budapest

A shop there.

One cat, two feathered blankets, just warm enough for a

wizened native to buy both.

The pattern on his hat reflects my bewilderment but the palms bring forth

gold that’s hot then cold then hot then cold.

Just like the seasons and the souls

of many a man who’s touched

hard-bitten currency.

I wrench my gaze away from a Google search and pull out

another eyelash, wishing it fell,

wishing a breeze could come make dreams true.

45 hours turn to 89 and I couldn’t count for one or two

while the per minutes can and everyone’s yelling

make a difference, time’s of the essence.

But who’s time to us, or we to time because

God,

Damn it,

is asynchronous and enveloping and one day

I won’t have to worry, like him. As I throw my tonic tears

off the cliff, my dry eyelashes fall like leaves and

my desires stay stagnant to a point.