el, camino, el el, camino

We sat on your special curb together
talked boys
laughed at those "mullett" El Caminos
marveled at your tats
shook our heads with tears at the idea of losing
your son
and you bought me a donut
went all the way back to the store
for my sugar fix
(you enabler you)
and tonight was your worst
so even though you are
shattered like glass
I wasnt afraid to hold your hand
in prayer.
I know (S)he won't let me get cut
when I tell you--

I really love you.

I've breathed in stories.
Hers. Theirs. Mine.

This is the summer of lifetime inhalation.
I am intaking their pasts
exhaling my own
without fear of burden
(they've carried weights I will never shoulder)

and most of all
learning Love.

(it is the only way to breath)

oh, to be a work of art...

i swear not all these words carry weight.

some are whims of fancy

that read more heavilly than they

write.

it's all how you interpret the

p-i-x-e-l-s

from your flat screen

li(fe)ght(source).

i do not want to depress i want to

en(lighten) the world from its

own world of thought.

because there is no such thing as

in the "mean" time

there is only nice time.

only nice times.

so nice.

very nice.

Kids

"I feel like________"
i should have felt more.
like the mass of purple
life seekers
shouldering the
golden promise of
freedom
should have invoked
sobs of reminiscence
regretretrospectreparation
or at least a single tear of
closure (?!)
but
i just couldn't fake my way to
nostalgic euphoria
when caps were tossed
spinning violently
aimed at hundreds of
carefree bright eyes
that didn't yet have
the wisdom to
blink.

But i blinked.
you taught me how to blink.

flourescent summer gloom of room 273

we cleaned our way
back
to the beginning

before the memories of
laughs
could stain
these temporary shelters
where lives were made

I dusted nine months
of skin and dirt
from the top of a
shelf that once held
Treasures

while the forty (+)
walked away crushed
under the tons of their
lives and the weight
of
goodbye's

the time cynic

it's lame that we both know

(i'll probably never write that letter)

went to the extreme of never being right or

well whatever time brings i'll fight

until it fits squarely into my non-existent watch

lost a year in the pretense of self reflection

its amazing that any change could occur

under such bricked off circumstances

but we all took expensive chances

when we came to this pre-adulthood

haven for the sober worldchangers of awkward post-adolescence

lost my femininity in an unfavorable ratio

one of the lucky but does that make it right

does that make me any different

than any of these other beauties

wasting their time on too few boys who were never worthy

of any time (gods hours or their own)

of day in and day out

we have gone through these credits

and soon we'll have debt

but as long as it resides

in the unforseen future of our pretend tomorrows

we can aspire to engage cultur(each other)

with rings that sound bells of churches that

collect money to pay the rent of their own

sanctuaries so that next year

the youth program can have that

fancy new laser light

that will surely lead them all to Christ

and blind their eyes in the process

of a spiritual encounter(feit)

that keeps them on the mountain top

and out of trouble

away from the trenches of real life

where adults fight demons

of childhood memories never

dealt with because they were too busy

trying to get into college

where things would make

¢ent$ for them

but never did

because no one ever told them

that it was going to go by so fast

and that the carpet of education

that veiled the truth of "real life"

would be pulled out from their too-confident feet

"i-paid-for-these-shoes-with-my-own-money" strides

leaving them in a heap of unpaid bills

stacked haphazardly skewed

like the long-held dreams

of book learned success

that never spelled the truth of what it is

to live.

DONT TOUCH THAT IT'S FRAGILE!

my fun-radar will not age

appropriately when I join that senior

disc(redit)ount the sixty-five above

all else knitting needles at the ready

to brandish critically doting eye(s)

like things just so

many well worn lines

(dexterous wisdom fighting against wrinkled hands)

no no no

my soul will not allow my body to pretend that those hours upon hours of idle chitter chatter in dim lit basements of the church we feel belong(ing) to are anything close to fun.

so help me God I will not go gentle into that good dylan thomas night.

a subconscious philosophy no longer adhered to

Piece by piece

I will layer these identities

as a process of elimination

to find who is willing

to dig through the

rubble of

second hand eccentricity

showy quirks

confident strides

feigned interests

& maybe with enough layers

they will never get to the core

and I won't ever face the fear

that there was never any more

(to me)

just a pile of what (i thought)

they needed to feel/hear/see

I love you a lot ya fatty (and thanks for the surprise)

missed that friend

(more than I knew)

miss the sloppy hat

crooked smile

content giggle

way with words

real hugs

covered-up smoke smell

never-ending night walks

"I love you a lot"'s

tea slamming evenings

tower chats

nappy ripped clothes

"well that's just crazy"

body checks

silence without wondering

grave yard confessions

fat kid and becky jokes

whining

"well you're just a bitch!"

compline looks

scissor jumps

same stories

trust

singing

the only one i could stand to

see somedays

drunken messages

pushes onto the sidewalk

future-planning

pipe-man spying

pike-place exploring

driving

scootering

kisses on my forehead

to let me know

someone was (t)here.

.............drive safe old friend.