some stories for Al, a notapoem

in the early hours, i sit on a milk-crate on my porch
and watch the strange clouds ,
eating cereal and enjoying the hope in my veins


___*___*___*

i am a different man when i wear a beard.
quieter usually, more alone,
but always surer of myself ;
and my hands better touch women nearby.


___*___*___*

it changes around me. shapes, colours, moods.
one day, this dust-covered-hell-pit will be my home
and i will love it because it will be every single part of me
skinned and put on display.


___*___*___*

'i'm worried, i should tell you, i'm concerned'
'every woman i have been alone with for more than an hour
i have slept with this month.'


___*___*___*

so i took the pills.

was lost and got loster

___(was fallen and fell


___*___*___*

late-afternoon was so handsome. the sky violet,
a perfect blanket to wear.
perched with legs on either side of a ladder i paint a window,
too slowly and too deliberately,
and stop.
and start to cry to myself.
for the second time in a decade ,
only this one inexplicable.
without mourn or happiness.

when he asks me why later i have found the answer:
it was the hurt of my face up against that bottom rock

(and fifteen minutes later cried again).


___*___*___*

and then it finished.
get me out of here mom i need to not be here. 

she was shocked. shiny and perfect and glowing with
labour and fresh and rosy as dawn, to leave now?

far.
farther.


___*___*___*

q remember to shave your beard and clean the paint out from under your fingernails before you start work tomorrow. 


___*___*___*

so much silence ,
at 1am i painted with one lamp
illuminating the room.
my knees quivered.
i have not known such a complete death before.


___*___*___*

q, you haven't spoken to anyone in months. you have to come. you must. you can't keep refusing to see people. you're coming. 


___*___*___*

with the heavy rains puddles have formed along the driveway.
the weeds that broke my back spring up,
perky and happy and mistaken as youth.

so now i know, that was all a waste of time.


___*___*___*

was fallen and fell ,

and stayed down

(oh don't worry about the house, it's a hundred years old it's tougher than you or i)

and it ate me as an apple


___*___*___*

i have not worn glasses in months
i sit as the bus moves on and am unsure how to hold my briefcase
i hear wind through my bones