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Category Archives: Poems

The Longest Dance

I wanted to dance with you.
Not the impersonal dance-near-you
mirroring of two people
who just happen to share a dance floor.

I wanted to dance with you,
my hands on your hips,
your hands around my neck,
looking at each other,
swaying.

Was it just that I wanted to touch you?
That I wanted to be near you,
as close as I thought you’d let me?
Is that all there is to a dance?

You let me lead.
Was leading what I was doing?
There wasn’t much to it, really,
was there? Rocking back and
forth from one foot to the
other, turning ever so
slightly with each
passing
move
Did you have trouble following?

No one’s ever followed me before.
Was that all I wanted from the dance?
Someone to follow me?
Or less, a simple nearness.

We didn’t speak. I just held out my hand.
Speaking would have made me
uncomfortable.
Might have made you uncomfortable,
too,
the whole thing must have been
uncomfortable for you,
what was I thinking?
Why did I do this?

But now we’re dancing.
That’s just swell, isn’t it?
Looking into each other’s eyes.
Hi. Not high, but… hi?
Maybe it’s for the best that we aren’t talking.

That was the longest song they played all evening.
It was my favorite song.
Well, not before, but…
I want to dance with you again.
I think.
I hope.
I guess.
If you want.
I’ll understand
If you don’t.
Don’t think I’ll understand if
you do.

Anyway.
You’ve probably already forgotten.
Or if you remember… well…
I’m sorry if you remember.
I’m sorry, but thank you.
That was my favorite dance and
I think
I might still be

dancing.

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Kalisune

It isn’t cool to do drugs.
This is the first step to wisdom.

It isn’t cool to drink or to smoke.
Drink water. Cleanse yourself.
That is the way to lasting happiness.

You have to learn to be happy with yourself, to be happy without the boost that comes from the highs and lows of substances.
If you can learn to be happy with just yourself, happiness will only ever be a thought away.

This is why you shouldn’t seek out love either.
Don’t seek out physical love with other people.
Sex isn’t cool.
Sex is only cool when it comes from a connection that is deep and true.
Love yourself without the boost that comes from physical pleasures.

You don’t need sex.
It is the end-point of desire and desire must be satisfied through outward means.
Isn’t it better, isn’t it more cool to be satisfied with yourself?
Don’t have sex. If you do, you will let sex control you.

Be yourself.
You don’t need drugs, you don’t need sex, you don’t need rich, gluttenous foods.
You don’t need the impermanent pleasures of physical objects—they are not you and so, they will never satisfy your sollipsism.
Be happy with yourself and do not strive to be cool.

Winning the approval of others is like heading East uphill on a unicycle—you will never reach your destination and you’ll have a hard time even staying upright.

Real cool people are cool without trying to be. So don’t try to be cool. Just be yourself and say no to the impermanent pleasures of the flesh.


Cannibal Horizon

I don’t want to eat you.
It isn’t because I don’t think you would taste good.
I don’t know how you would taste. I haven’t tried.
I don’t want to try you for taste.

I don’t want to eat you because I would miss you.
What does it do to a person to be eaten?

I don’t want to eat you, but I am hungry.
Am I hungry enough to eat human flesh?
I don’t know.
I haven’t tried it.
But if I do turn out to be hungry enough to eat a person,
Would I eat someone I know?
Would you eat someone you knew?
Would you eat someone I knew?
I would rather eat myself.

Last night, I burned my finger baking cookies.
After dousing the burn with water, I sucked on the hurt.
I could feel it cooking.
How much cooking would it take for it to taste like chicken? Like pork?
I have been thinking
Since I started working out,
Since I started working with meat again
That the leaner muscles I can feel in my legs
Around the knob of my knees
Look tasty.
I don’t know why I would think that.
I am not that hungry yet.
But as I look at the new bulges in my arms
(is that what a man’s arm is supposed to look like?)
As I marvel at the diminishing flab,
I can’t help but wonder, if only as a wordsmith,
If only as a spinner of yarns,
What would it take?

I don’t want to eat you.
I have heard mixed reviews about the long pork’s taste.
I have heard that vegetarians taste better
And if you were vegan, you wouldn’t be you.
But can I say that I wouldn’t eat you
If the circumstances were just so?
If the circumstances were different,
Can I say that I would feed myself to you?

It is easy to say here, now, in front of everyone,
I would rather eat myself
But I have never been that hungry.


Stitches

I’m here.
At least
I think I am.
But where is here?
And who am I?
And what is the place that is not here?
And where is every other me?

You think you know me.
You think you see who I am.
You think the color of my skin
and my male-ness
and the length of my hair
and my beard and my belly
and my long black coat
and my cowboy hat
Tell you all you need to know about me.

But they don’t.
Because they cannot speak.
They can tell you nothing.
I tell you where I’m from.
The short version.
What does that tell you about me?
Now you have one side of the story.
Good for you!
So you draw your conclusions.
You draw your lines in the sand,
all around me.
Now you’ve made a nice little box for me.
But I am a descendant of Pandora
and I don’t like boxen.

So I tell you where I’m really from.
The long version.
And I hatch.
Now you’ve got a newborn on your hands.
A baby dinosaur.
A velociraptor.
And not the cute kind.
You weren’t expecting that.
Things aren’t looking so good for you now.

But maybe I’ve misjudged you.
I do that sometimes.
No matter where I might be from,
I am only human.
I am not a velociraptor.
I can make mistakes.

Who are you?
Where are you
from?
Are you from here?
Or are you from the other place?
Or are we in the other place?
And are you from here?
So where am I
from
to you?

Are you from somewhere
else?
Maybe this place and the other
don’t seem so different to you
as either place to where you’re from;
The whole dichotomy is false.
I’ve been trounced–you’re an even bigger stitch
across an even bigger schism.
My apologies.
My respect.
My
condolences.

What do I know about you?
Why is it important that I know you?
Why is it important that you know me?
Are you one of us?
Are you one with me?
And why would that be important?

It is important to me.
I mind the gap.
I bridge the schism
and most people don’t even seem to care
that the schism exists
and don’t know
why it needs a bridge.

But the differences between here
and that other place
To us are like an open wound
that needs Stitches.


Summer Says

Summer Says come out and play.

She’s so hot—how can you resist her?

Summer says take off your shirt, it’s that kind of day, and you’re a guy, what have you got to lose?

But Summer doesn’t recognize safe-words.

You can’t rely on her to stop just ‘cause you ask nice, and sometimes by the time you know you’re going to have a problem, the damage is already done.

You wanted a tan.

Summer likes a man with a tan, she’ll let him in on the action.

Turns out, you have a hard time tanning—Summer isn’t fond of too-light skin.

Is that it, then?

You’re not even gonna try?

Too chickenshit?

Just gonna stay at home in the dark and nurse your precious skin, leave Summer to flirt out there with every other guy?

No!

So you slather on the cream that’ll let you face her and feel safe.

You venture forth.

There she is, all hot and bothered, having fun.

Girls, boys, everybody gets a piece of Summer.

“Come play with me,” she says. “Be friends.”

They roll and writhe and touch and kiss in the sun, brandishing their bare skin like weapons of love, the most elegant swordfighting dances.

So why don’t you have your shirt off?

You know what she likes, you know what she’s like, you’ve taken steps this time to protect yourself.

“Come play with us,” Summer Says.

But you don’t trust your arms.

You don’t trust yourself to keep up, not to get hurt, so you let Summer happen.

She’s going to do what she does, with or without you, until she changes her mind, so are you just going to sit back and watch all the boys and the girls making out with Summer?

You could join them, or you could slink back into your cave and wait to fall.


A Glass House

I walk the platform, pretending to be waiting for you.
What am I doing here?
I know you’re not expecting me
But I have places to be and I’d rather be here waiting for you.

There’s a rumbling in the ground,
a persistent thunder,
far away but getting closer.
Almost there.
In anticipation, I close my eyes.

I wake up in a room.
A simple room.
With simple walls and ceiling,
made of glass.
It’s night outside–this simple room feels cold and lonely.

But I am not alone.
I open my eyes to fields of stars ad infinitum,
So far away–why need they be so far away?

And then the doors open and you appear,
startled, coy. You smile.
The sun has risen and who needs those stars anyway.
Can I walk you the rest of the way?

Light fills up my little room,
revealing crannied nooks I’d never seen or suspected.
This tiny space seems so much bigger now, in the light,
seems to contain much more than darkness.

But with this revelation, an apocalypse.

Heat fills me up, bounces off the walls
even as they twinkle and gleam,
helpless to leave this place
and even after we get where you’re going and part ways
(not forever, there is room to recess)
the heat is comfortable enough
I do not need the stars.
Not really.

Time passes and with every glance
passed back and forth,
more heat glitters off my room.
It’s radiant. And I can’t get out.
I’m melting.
Even when you aren’t there, I can’t stand it.
Eating is a foreign language and sleep an enemy
and I can’t see the stars through the fog
in my sauna,
but only your brilliance shines through,
distorted by my pain.

I have to get out.
You have to release me.
There are stones at my feet. But what will they do to me?
They will break the glass, let the cool air
wash over me, release all this tension. But will that be enough?
Will it stop at that wall, or will the cracks in the glass
bring the house down around me?
Will I ever see you again?
Will we be able to talk,
as we have, as we do,
if I cast this first stone?

Let it fall, I scream, echoing off the glass walls.
Let it fall all around me
Let it fall on top of me
If the price of feeling the cool breezes again
Is being battered by falling glass,
Then let the shards of self-knowledge mar my hide
and winter take me
If I can only first speak my heart a while.


Chuck Norris vs. Your Mom

The Chuck Norris facts here come from the Internet, for the most part. A couple of them are hearsay. The responses are mine. There is also an earlier version of this that isn’t as good, that’s available on request.

When Alexander Graham Bell made the first telephone, he had three missed calls from Chuck Norris:

A warning, a plea, and finally a wedding invitation, all of them concerning Your Mom. 

Chuck Norris once fought Bruce Lee and survived.

But will he survive Your Mom? 

Chuck Norris is “what Willis was talking about”.

And Your Mom is who he was telling it to.

The original title for Alien vs. Predator was Alien and Predator vs. Chuck Norris. The film was cancelled shortly after going into preproduction. No one would pay nine dollars to see a movie fourteen seconds long.

Except Your Mom. She would buy it, and she would watch it over and over and over again.

Chuck Norris can touch MC Hammer.

And Your Mom? She’s totally touching Chuck Norris.

Chuck Norris’s tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.

Yet. But I bet Your Mom could make Chuck Norris cry.

When the Boogeyman goes to sleep at night, he has to check the closet for Chuck Norris.

And when Chuck Norris goes to sleep at night, he has to check the bed for Your Mom.

Some magicians can walk on water; Chuck Norris can swim through land.

And it’s a good thing, too, because Your Mom has eyes and ears everywhere, and she does not give up. 

Chuck Norris can light a fire by rubbing two ice-cubes together.

But he knows that now is not the time to do that. No matter how cold the fire is, he knows Your Mom is like a heat-seeking missile. 

Chuck Norris made a Happy Meal cry.

The liberal media was all over that shit. That’s how Your Mom finally tracked him down. 

When you’re sitting in class, look to your left, then to your right, then behind and in front of you. Chuck Norris had sex with that kid’s mom.

So why not with Your Mom? 

There is no chin behind Chuck Norris’s beard–just another fist.

There is, however, a beard right now on Your Mom’s chin–and it belongs to Chuck Norris!

Chuck Norris goes to the Bermuda Triangle on vacation.

And he takes Your Mom. She likes the palm trees. 

Chuck Norris IS RIGHT BEHIND YOU!

Doing unspeakable things to Your Mom. 

Chuck Norris always has sex on the first date. Always.

Because yes, Your Mom is in fact that kind of girl. (And good for her, too, that’s a woman who knows what she wants!)

Chuck Norris doesn’t need to swallow when eating food.

Neither does Your Mom. Not when it’s food she’s eating…

Chuck Norris once drank a Red Bull and the can grew wings.

The only thing that gives Chuck Norris wings is Your Mom. 

Chuck Norris isn’t on the Earth, the Earth is on Chuck Norris.

Chuck Norris is on Your Mom. 

Chuck Norris is the reason why Waldo is hiding.

Waldo said some stuff about Your Mom. Nasty stuff, too. Ooh!

Chuck Norris can round-house kick someone through a window without breaking the glass.

Good thing, too, because Your Mom would have to clean it up–and she’d be pi-issed! 

Chuck Norris drinks napalm to cure his heartburn.

Which he got from eating Your Mom’s delicious chili. *gulp* Yum. 

Chuck Norris cuts his steak with his fist.

But Your Mom doesn’t like that because it’s not exactly sanitary.

When Chuck Norris eats at a restaurant, the wait staff tips him afterwards.

But Your Mom doesn’t let him keep the money—I mean, have you ever tried living on restaurant wages? This is Chuck Norris we’re talking about. 

Bloody Mary is afraid to say Chuck Norris three times.

Chuck Norris now wishes he hadn’t called three times for Your Mom. 

Chuck Norris can slam a revolving door.

And that’s just what he did. Now Your Mom is all alone in that hotel room. 

There used to be a street named after Chuck Norris, but it was changed because no one crosses Chuck Norris and lives.

Your Mom moved to that street. Just so that she could be close to the memory of him. 

Death once had a near-Chuck Norris experience.

But Your Mom knew what was going on—Moms are like that—and she grabbed him and pulled him back just in time. 

Chuck Norris died 20 years ago, Death just hasn’t built up the courage to tell anyone.

And who could blame him? Your Mom’s still in love with the guy. 

Chuck Norris can cut through a hot knife with butter.

But that knife… That was Your Mom’s knife. And he suddenly finds he doesn’t want to. 

Chuck Norris counted to Infinity—twice.

The first was in an attempt to prove he was smarter than Vin Diesel (which didn’t work, because it turned out Vin Diesel also included every number between all the integers, but that’s not the point). The second time was standing outside Your Mom’s window, just being silly to make her smile again. 

Chuck Norris can win a game of Connect Four in three moves.

But he lets Your Mom go first. Because he knows that she’ll beat him in two.