where the wild things are

untitled by coolhandluke


here the song is played with no instruments. it's windy so i don't hear so well.

what i had known about myself grew up and wished me well and walked away.

i'd have stayed up late, waiting for it if i could.

only i wouldn't have known i was waiting. i wouldn't have known what i was doing,

other than balancing seconds of night on my forehead and measuring gradations of light.

what i knew of sadness was an ocean. a desert. an entire nightsky - a whole universe to float in.

but now just this muffled song i can't make out. like a mild forgetfulness,

or the need to scratch but not knowing where. __(not knowing where was always my problem)

these propositions that follow on from each other: like night and wings , or

lust from out of loneliness , or my current predicament of white upon white upon white.

__my clothes smell funny. all of them, i consider burning all my shirts until i realise maybe

i smell like a roommate of myself. a stranger i don't remember welcoming , a proposition

that followed from something else, like shadow or dreamscape or piano wood.

anyway, maybe it's him and he knows no sadness or happiness, but lives in my tshirts

so that they smell like a blanket-apology of okayness.

__but after the sadness there was love. (if you can even call it that - for a change it was soo kind to me).

if ever there was a couplet of years i'd be happy to be trapped in maybe it was those , huddled

in your chest until you said i thought the girl gets to sleep on the boy's chest? and i mumbled

a dreamsound from a distant contentment even now i can't remember the shape of.

and after the pleasantness of love there's this... this... damned song. this uninteresting thing

i am stuck with. __the mornings are disappointing. maybe that's all there is to say about it.

__granted: it was a sadness that kept getting stuck in my tie. but what i remember of it

it was real. personalized and dedicated just to me. an emotion to call my own that i had on a leash

(that had me on a leash) and together we'd tug and pull across parks and sundays.

but now there is this synthetic cake of pills and forgetfulness and dull memory of geometric forms

and not a word of any of it makes any sense.

__by 2pm i'm five coffees into my day and still closer to sleep than the other thing.

somewhere around here i buried the things i didn't know how to hug anymore. one day,

when they excavate my remains they'll find the diamonds you hid there.

when you laughed i sucked it in and the weight of them and the pressure of them turned my

bones into jewels. __have my femur, i wish i could do something nice for you.

(she wore my ring so proudly).

__all i want are redder eyes and the satisfaction that comes with self-sabotage.

it's winter in europe. when my head gets too heavy it's hard to move. the nights elongate and

memories grow fangs. (yesterday is where i hide my black words).

where i find .

(why does recovery move at the pace of geology?) maybe the trick is to do laundry more often.

wash the you and the chemicals out of my clothes. armed with just myself i'd lose any card game.

i wish i understood it sooner my mother says. it's in your genes, poor you. can't escape it!

a starless night i can't escape or the drone of the fuzzy song.

when i land , when i land , when i land:

if you are my friend, hold my hand so i don't float away again.

__the memory of happiness is a costly sentiment. (maybe i was rich before, but when i land my

pockets will be licked clean). so spare a penny for the old guy so

where i find .

when i land .