Touch And Go

Might as well –

Get used to losing you Now

Because sooner or later

You’ll eventually Be gone.

By then the heartache;

Still,

Wretched –

Petrified In

Gigahurtz’ own catch

of loss

Will already have resilient roots

Rejoicing deeply;

Extending upliftingly

Unto Swaying Storytelling

Springs ~

Wings

Flapping Language of Repetitive

Reckonings

A Rapture

Practiced

Within All those Soul*Mate

Years

Of weeping you away unto the vast foreign wildernesses

and French*Kissing you back unto this crowd surfing Spirit Team

Supporting thrusts and bursts of

Human Nature

Wrapped Raw

In Pink flush of Pearlescent

Rosebud

Enveloping with Paternal Arms

the Practice of Exhausted Grief in temporary pleasure

as Preparation Garden for the Surrender of Exhumed Relief in

Impermanence’s Extreme Measure.

Still Will Sting

Letting Go Will already Redeem a slice

of cakewalk easement

That Vile, Sweet Being

Now Gone

That Vital, Fleeting Dream –

New Dawn.

Cabin Fever (circa 1860)

*written in Arroyo Seco on 5/15/2019


Unsettled,

Brittle twig

Alive in the fall

Speak not of seasonal

Action,

A light unto gravity’s pull

Robust,

Breasted savior,

Timid in tepid landing

Alike – in our kindred

Shy – not in potential

Shaken – by our ways gone to sleep

As

baby blue bars

abandoned by the Carpenter

Blow all outside of rudimental

park

near the table

serve, a meal upon Nature’s Benevolent Paw.

A HOT BATH

*Written circa 2005-ish in Nashville apartment before I came out.  I would often sit in the baths and stew with the turmoil of being closeted with unmanifested desires.*

The tub is home. If, but for 30 minutes he sits inside a think tank replaying the past, sweating the future, and soaking up the moments of just being. His mind is New York City. Too many actions at once, all a swirl. Where is that button? The one that maintains a frozen order to the mecca of bees zipping to and from too many promising honey trees. He’s never satisfied. He’s got shackles. He’s got strings and no scissors. The drip of the faucet is a consoling conversation. How sad it is. And the same language falls from his cheeks. The ripples of both parallel universes converge and only disappear to meet the unknown.
Home is where the hurt is, h​ e muses.
I want to stay in this water for the rest of my life​, he decides.
I am a numb ragdoll.
I am just a lifesaver floating in the water.​ Funny that, dead yet helpful somehow, haha.
He sat numb in scalding bathwater. He knew that when he got out, areas of his pale, untanned skin would be a deep flush of pinkish red, like a lobster. Lobster feet up to the ankles. Lobster buttocks. Lobster arms. At the moment, that wasn’t of concern. All that mattered was the void between his ears, between his lungs, between his angels and demons. At the moment, nothing felt good, nothing felt bad. It was all jelly broken down into liquid and nullified by the tempature that gripped his body. He stared forward, sunken to the point of his chin barely dipped in the feverish fluid. He concentrated on the desperate escape of each droplet of water from the faucet. He imagined each drop making a huge sound upon impact. A sound of importance and attention. He imagined it and then the thought flushed as quickly as it began.
He leaned his head back against the white tile that surrounded the tub. He stared at the ceiling. For a moment he wished he could mentally shift the bathtub to the center of the room, perfectly aligned with the naked bulb on the ceiling. The bulb and the young man were both naked. One bright, the other dim. The young man sat up, his body rubbed against the bottom causing the tub to belch an unhappy sound. The young man sighed. Blew his lips into a flubbery vibration and sighed again. To his right his washcloth floated like a dead dove. He slowly reached for it and then draped it over his head. All four corners of cloth spat streams down his head. Over brows. over ears. over eyes. Then he reached up and swept the washcloth in an arc over the bridge of his nose and let the cloth cling there warming his forehead. He imagined the cloth as a glorious rainbow trout jumping over him and frozen in midair on his face. His eyes were closed and in his head he felt light. Was it a headrush? That would be nice. A headrush. Blood flowing again. To change the traffic lights to green so the New York City cells could roar and beep and yell thoughts around block after block in his brain. Typically, the headrush came after he stood up from the boiling baptism. That moment of dizziness always delighted him somehow.
A hot bath was a great escape for him. It stopped time and soaked in the pain, the fury, the dreams, the regrets of life. Typically, he stepped into the tub overloaded in weight. Heavy waves of impending confrontations, to do lists, handcuffed secrets. They all were stirring around in head, heart, mind, soul. Shaken up just like those snow globes. Then with one foot bravely planted in the grip of stinging water and then another and the slow descent of full body contact, the snow began to lose its momentum and flake away to the bottom. It began to disolve like sugar stirred into coffee. Making thoughts sweeter and slowly stalling them.
Questions rattled off as he would dip his cloth in for its first taste of wetness. What am I doing here?

Why am I worthless? When will I come clean with all this shit that keeps tormenting me? Why do I keep on failing to get a foothold on finances and a career? Why am I riding a motorcycle round and round the same small neighborhood? Why am I shy and afraid? What does my past mean? What is my purpose? and then slowly, the water would grip everything in the heat and the whirring motor of question marks puttered out… and all was quiet….all was nothing…. he sat numb in scalding bathwater….contemplating everything and nothing at the same time.

Rainbow Dipper, Pine Cone Flipper

Rainbow Dipper,

Pine Cone Flipper

Best Self

Love Letter

Dropping Boldly

^Upright^

^Upon^

Sledgend’s Fran-tastic 

Frameless Pathway;

of Glittery asphalt;

of Guardian Sprite;

Sprockets Smoothly Engaging

Lucky, 

Charming,

Fearlessly

Fluttering Delight.

Greenest Wavelengths

of HUUUUUUU(e)-D Mind

Of Sync-quinned Soul;

Of Dual Spiritual, Medicinal Flight ~

Full Parole.

Rainbow Dipper,

Pine Cone Flipper’s

Lush Beyond

Love Letters

Licorice’s

Low Cures;

Authentically mine;

Autonomously yours.

Forever Is The Sweetest Con

And just like that these past 5-6 months are over like the foreshadowed read (back in the fall/early new year imported into your tech baby) warned me about. The read that mentioned such a life chapter with another individual being like a cab ride 5-6 blocks and then saying Thank You and Moving On.

The parts that hurt deeply are having individuals who warned me about you and saying this is how we would end. I didn’t believe it. I spoke up. I defended you. I whole-heartedly believed we could rewrite this narrative and after all is said and done the Truth that they were right leaves me feeling depleted.

It hurts that there is no logical explanation of what has happened and changed. Supposedly we are/were friends but getting defensive when I call to talk peacefully in the middle of the night is not what my other friends and I share. We don’t have a constant need to call in the middle of the night so when it does happen I take it seriously; no questions asked. That is what friends do. It is clear by your cold reaction you don’t see us as that and so I can’t rely on you. Not as lover nor friend anymore. I don’t know what constitutes an emergency with you if there ever was one and I was lying at death’s door or being threatened. I know now you aren’t a friend I can rely on. This isn’t a friendship. It is just a cold, keep-me-at-arms-length from any deep connection acquaintance…and I am at peace with this because now I know and see clearly. I was lost and confused for the past month or so mainly due to lack of work (which I fixed thanks Incredibly to you) and not understanding the shift projecting from you “I Need Space. Release me.” and then immediately right after that “but we can talk when I return.” Now i see clearer after last night. I am not a game piece for you to shove away and pull close at your every whim.

That old adage be careful what you wish for rings true. I wished for this kind of connection with someone for soooo long before we first met. I was so excited and carefree and had finally manifested a lover who didn’t want to Cage me; nor I them. It is everything I imagined being open could be… and then stuff started to sour. Inexplicably. To this day it feels supernatural in nature. Like a gust of dark arts magic in a fairytale meant to write what could’ve been a revolutionary narrative into just another narrative cliche. The cold nature from you suddenly is what is the hardest to grapple with and the lack of explanation.

Friends hang out with friends. We don’t. Lovers (even open ones; non-exclusive) go on fun dates and cuddle and it doesn’t always have to be about sex. Not us. It never had to be just about sex for me; though I find you Remarkably Perfectly Imperfect physically despite your self-esteem issues regarding your body which you would express in the hot tub. You’re perfect as you are. I will never forget how effortless and dance-like our second sexual experience together unfolded. We read each other so precisely on a whole other level like a well-choreographed ballet. Ah, ballet…your body as poetry-in-motion…on YouTube (love at first sight) and IRL on stage with sheets, pillows, sweat, You…

Everything I dreamed being open could be has come to bite me in the ass recently. Perplexingly so.

I deserve better (“We get the love we think we deserve” – Perks of Being A Wallflower). You deserve better than what you are allowing. My heart and soul and spirit are not games for you; this Love isn’t shallow (“I’m in the deep end; watch as I dive in…”) nor fickle nor just surface platitudes. My Love Is Patient, Kind, etc.

I wish the tenets you hold so core to your beloved tech baby and life in general applied to us. Speaking True-True it feels like they don’t and never have in relation to us. Even intimately…you say we were Slow. Not true. Sex rush from the start. I wanted to sit with you. Meditate with you. Yoga with you. Tantra with you. In reality it was 0-60 sex with you.

In closing, I still believe in you. Always. This will never change nor fade. As an invisible face in a crowd of least importance to you I will still be a cheering you on and celebrating your victories. Just a hidden nobody.

I don’t type this furiously. I type this calmly with a bittersweet strange fruit dangling on the inside… I hold no ill will. I still believe in your tech baby and your present and future as an accomplished writer; You Already Are. Your blogs online read as Classic to me. Life-changing. I will join the crowds I lining up for any of your published works.

After this writing session on this early Saturday morning I will bring no more baggage to the table regarding the closure of our story as lovers and friends (though I do imagine writing about you more fondly; in hindsight).

and thus, We will remain community members; both online and irl and that will simply be; cordially.

Please treat other lovers and friends better. Treat your former lovers (who still exist in more significant communicative roles than I ever have nor will) and existing ones better than you have me.

I quickly halt my mental wheel from doing this; but in moments I have deep concern for your safety if you continue to treat future lovers in such ways; if you got involved with a bad apple with depleted or lack of kindness, calmness, peace, gratitude I worry about the ways that could affect you. Be careful sleeping around with so many. When I invisioned Open I didn’t anticipate a lover who needed to sleep around quite so much. No judgement; just that old adage of be careful what you wish for once again.

You brought so much into my life. It is hard to let you go and yet I feel adequate in doing so at the close of this. I will miss your kisses and compatible body and that silly glorious Buddha grin I adore when you are content after a satisfying sexual session. I will miss your tickling me and the few memorable date nights we shared. I will miss your amazing property; your visitors are in for such a treat this summer and beyond. I will miss your lightness and the fun lilt in your voice when you are excited/anxious and your terms of endearment. Speaking True-True; I’ve never known anyone like you and hoped this would extend longer.

I officially close the door on our physical and emotional cab ride. With the slight *thump* as it closes and I turn towards manifesting the next Friend & Lover; I officially relegate our diminishing ember of connection to the invisible; pretend-we-don’t-really-know-one-another online fake ness and the brief moments I will see your bright sunshine driving by in town no longer making my heart swell. If we cross paths at the Farmers Market with new lovers we will nod and understand without jealousy nor envy; just a simple acceptance that this is the way our cookie crumbled.

and now with a final tear down my cheek…

*thump*

and all the past 5-6 months simply

*poof*

now vapor; Now Transformed; Now Let Go; Now moving on.

I Love you, Cowboy Like Me. Always – now say it with me in unison –

“Forever Is The Sweetest Con”

Open Sesame (Blue Crown, Purple Heart)

*this poem was written on May 17th, 2019 during my first visit inside the St. Francis of Asis’ Mission in Ranchos de Taos, NM. I was homeless and just beginning to stay at the Men’s Shelter in Taos. The church visit was so sacred and silent save a few solemn sounds and visitors. I anonymously left a copy of this poem in their donation box.*

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

5 times my hands

Feel the Bell’s Rope

Propel Rebirth ~

and Tugs with the Assistance

of Ancestors across the Throne Room’s

Threshold.

Drip💧 Drip 💧 Drip 💧

3 Times the Trinity

Aligns over Asis’ chest;

Jesus’;

Recovers

Purple Hearts with The Bravery

of those beneath blistering

Crosses

and blue

Crowns.

Drum ¥ Drum ¥ Drum ¥

Drum ¥ Drum ¥ Drum ¥ Drum ¥

7 times the Land’s Trust

*thumps* Death’s breast,

Breaths’,

Rectifies;

Every One Alive again

Immune to toxic sting,

Free to blow

Wide Open!

Creaking

Doors;

Un-suffering.

🚪🛕🌅


I still imagine you surprising me

I still imagine you surprising me; even though you hate surprises.

Every time the back porch light is tripped by a night animal outside my bare window I am a fool and imagine you have come to your senses and decided to visit spontaneously. For a cuddle or a Makeout sesh.

The other morning I heard a truck door slam and ran to the window in anticipation of the bright yellow that always swells my heart with glee.

Tonight I was walking home and just as a skunk startled me (and thankfully did not spray me)…I heard music coming from the plaza.

I imagined you there…dancing. And why haven’t we danced together yet?

I will never forget the first time I brought you a warm mushroom beverage that cold night you danced in the plaza and asked me not to sit too close ‘cause you would get nervous….so I dropped of the cup near you and walked a distance away and began doodling your dancing body as an esoteric tai chi-sequence figure and sketched your agility and your t-shirt as a swirl into a center star.

Tonight when I heard the music I walked into the house and immediately walked back out and headed to the plaza. I foolishly imagined you there. I am always disappointed.

I remember you mentioning dancing with Christmas lights under a full moon recently. God, how I wish I could have joined you.

I foolishly imagine you and I as the gay version of dirty dancing. After all, you call me bb…and Baby is Jennifer Grey’s character. “Nobody puts bb in a corner.” The classic film quote.

So I headed to the Plaza and it was quiet and you, obviously, weren’t there. So I planned to walk the perimeter of the square and then walk back home…

but then I heard the outdoor sounds again and followed them to discover Wumaniti, one of the the local marijuana dispensaries, having an outdoor event- a Veggie-Q with an outdoor dj and outdoor fire dancers. And I immediately needed to join the dance floor.

why do I always feel lonely out on the dance floor? Why couldn’t you have been there to make me feel less alone?

the moment I started dancing the fire dancers stopped and I felt alone… and naked…out on the dance floor. I didn’t want attention I just wanted to dance… all Gay and Shit.

the fire dancers join a bit, but there is no major connection. I feel the most connection with the Native dj…and much like the Robyn song I Just focus on Dancing on my Own.

The dj stops with a remix of Coldplay’s Adventure of a Lifetime which gets me all excited and then the shutdown is anti-climactic.

I walk away with prayer hands to my heart in gratitude and I am glad I danced; I needed it…yet I still feel terribly alone.

my god, what have you done to me? What have I done to deserve your silence? Will you really reach out to me when you return? Are we even friends? I have never had a friendship where I didn’t actually hang with the friend.

I am so confused. I feel so much for you. I am such a huge cheerleader for your gifts and talents. I want to be a significant part of your life but not The Center.

i don’t want to possess nor smother you yet I love you.

I have never felt Home with another person like you; not even my two past significant loves.

Will I hear from you again? Are you going to abandon me? Will we ever dance together? I feel there are soooo many glorious chapters yet to be written in our book as friends and lovers and I am just so flabbergasted by how the past month has transpired.

I have so many wonderful memories of the past six months and I hope we have more to write. I fuckin’ hope we are not ending during this strange chapter.

I want so much for you to succeed as writer and entrepreneur. I want to meet the people who mean so much to you and celebrate your glorious existence with each of them.

I still imagine you surprising me; even though you hate surprises.

I can’t fucking wait to share a patch of green grass as a dance floor with you.

Please assure me our fun together isn’t over yet. In so many ways we only just begun…

and I fuckin’ defended you and our love in the face of those who tried to say we weren’t right together. Fuck that. What do traditional couples know anyway?

I still imagine you surprising me; even though you hate surprises.

You make life better… as friend or lover…sharing stories, touch, kiss, etc.

you make life better.

for fuck’s sake please surprise me.

I miss you

because you are an inspiration, a motivation and a helluva remarkable friend and lover.

tap dancing on the stove

Ecstatic eggs are tap dancing

on the astral hot plate,

Broadway stove.

…and I am

OHMMMMMMM-ing

on a slice of

ornamental grey pillow;

toast.

Orb-little;

brittle gifts

Mother Hens’ plopped out;

Now performing a metallic

cabaret.

Tin-man,

mental shifts

Father Figures’

SHHHHHHH-lopped

doubt

Now spilling a chronic

sorbet.

And the prismatic rye-bread

Gone crusty round the edges

in aortic chambers

spread sporadically

and just as quickly wiped

clean

a strawberry jam

priapism

softening…

and falling in love with the aural

fixation

and bobbing

Above the

submissive beastial roots.

Slam deep.

Grip

underneath a smearing crown of

repetitive sprouting seeds

speed-spree mortality

Aneurystic Timelapse –

Ecstatic eggs tap dancing in

cathartic harmony.

and I am

OHMMMMM-big;

ongoing

half-heartedly.

With Our Cage Doors Left Open — humming.verbs.

With our cage doors left open; heliocentric apt to balance lemniscate interval~comings~and~goings Throbbing with Hyperion integrity snuggle up within you,turn down within me Downy shelter found steady in oscillating pillow fort playground lovers Tickling releases of flailing glee uniting releases of humid, wet seed. a co-mingling of visits through your open door An ode of […]

With Our Cage Doors Left Open — humming.verbs.