stream of consciousness

a homage

please, don't let me forget
when we laughed, and walked in the rain
we weren't worried about getting wet, or being cat called.
when we were in the know, and were the funniest guys around.
or when we stayed up all night, not to study
but for it's own sake, and because
what could be better than getting breakfast
first
thing
in
the
morning
slipping and and sliding down the ice frosted hill, holding on
to each other, while we could.before time
sent us flying apart like dandelions in the wind.
going together to make a costume at the thrift shop
eating together and feeling great not because
of a costume, but because of the feeling of being truly loved.
by being buried in love,
where chance meetings had  infinite possibility.
when life wasn't a thing that took people away, but brought them together.
to run and dance and scream into the night, the same lame songs, but together.
to lie on the floor and to sleep. and dream of love.
And sandwiches in the park. being chased by squirrels.
and all the little moments that i might be just around the corner.
Biking in the rain, and electric candles that flicker in the darkness~
illuminating the possibility that maybe we'd be able to write lousy poetry together forever.

Huddled together side by side
in the darkness of being alive
our candles barely illuminate
the world around us, keeping out
the cold, flickering weakly against the night.
keeping warm but things are still no brighter
is this just the feeling of being free?
with nobody to hold about yourself?
maybe our eyes are just closed.
maybe it's not really dark at all.
what would that make us, then?

shameless autobiography

i had two sets of puzzles.
above the mantle-place
one of sky and one of night.
why did you knock them down
off the shelf and onto the floor
with unrelenting force.
they've fallen from their neat boxes
and have scattered together
into each other and beyond recognition.
some into the fireplace, now smoke rising blind.
others into the silent bedroom, where i dare not venture
for fear of what i might find.
now that the pieces are all on the floor
i can't tell them apart anymore.
the dark blues and lighter hues
coming together - no edges will save me now.
and i can't merely put them away
for the differences that i do not sort will be there to stay.
until someone else forces my things onto the floor
and i'll be forced to struggle through them once more.

Flash Fiction Episode 1: No More Running

“Humans were here. Find them.”

The ‘men’, or what may have once been men, kicked in the door of the empty house.  The small rental looked abandoned, and was scattered belongings were the only remaining residents. A broken cord phone. A bed with a toy story blanket. A Car. The forecaster babbled about clear skies despite the light drizzle outside, until one of the men put a heavy boot through the screen. The only sound was heavy feet on hardwood. One of the soldiers held up a stuffed animal to his mask, examining the dampness. The uniformed man turned to his superior, dictated by the numerous shiny badges on his uniform.

“Tears. They couldn’t be far off, Sir”

“Excellent. Soon we’ll finally cleanse the last of the human scum of this region.”

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the room

. Glass flew skywards, and a tattered skinny man jumped out of the thin wood paneling.

“No”

He swung a heavy fist at the captain, who parried the slow blow with ease

“More”

The man pushed the general and began throwing punches wildly. The other men dived in to pull him off, but it all seemed to happen in slow motion

“Running”

The only thing they found after was ash.

Senior Sermon

Alright, so a quick recap before I post this. I went to a Jewish high school and one of our graduation requirements was to write something called a Dash. Basically, it's a sermon which you have to write yourself based off a piece of the old testament in which you take something from your own life and tie it all together into something you can present to an audience, and possibly even teach them something. My dad passed away two years ago on the 26th. This is for him, and for me. If you have any questions i'll answer them in the comments.

[Currently being rewritten for publication]

On thinking.

"It's always going to hurt to think"
I let that thought soak and sink
into my brain.
In my reflection I can see this drive
How can I help but strive, as it consumes me
To wrap my hands around understanding, even
if understanding is merely an illusion
and in reality just my neck, and in the
act I am choking myself to death.
Am I actually intelligent, or just a moody
deluded human being.

Childhood

Night. Take away my exhaustion and fright
The light of the day burns with it's chains so tight.
Let me feel the vertigo, the wind in my face.
Ride on these swings and look up to space
where great balls of gas fuse hydrogen steadily.
and there's no thought of something else we're meant to be
Watching chunks of space rock streak light across the sky
Not thinking or fabricating reasons to wry my hands in anger at the universe.
The words will slip away. Your name too.
But I can still close my eyes and remember.
And smile, if only on the inside.