Poems Vol. I

Trudging

I walked one and a half miles

in the rain

uphill

in total darkness

while listening to Ornette Colman

without a rain coat

with a heavy backpack,

and I couldn’t have been happier.

Pooping

After being sick

and diseased,

I find myself

watching what I poop.

I pay attention

to how it feels coming out.

Is it soft and gooey

or hard and dry?

Sometimes I know right away

if something isn’t right.

I look down into the bowl

and shake my head

I should drink more water

eat less gluten

eat more salad

eat less red meat

it’s the bad dinner

I had because

I was in such a hurry.

I even know

by the smell

That something isn’t

working right.

The more it stinks

the worst it is.

I almost smile when

it smells like a barn.

I drank enough water,

I ate healthy,

I’m feeling good.

If I wipe once

and there isn’t anything there,

I feel proud,

but when I keep wiping

and wiping

and wiping

then I know that I need

to watch what I eat

how much water I drink.

I pay attention to how I poop.

A Stranger’s Spring

I walked up to the window.

It was the middle of the night.

The air was warm and the moon was missing.

It was dark, but the spring blossoms

almost light up the midnight sky.

I peek into the window and the bright living room light.

There are paintings on the walls.

Books on shelves.

They go dark to light in color.

I try to read their spines and see what these

people are reading.

There is a Pendleton blanket

thrown over the couch.

Violet Christmas lights accent the

doorway into the kitchen.

She is in there washing dishes.

He is eating his dinner while thumbing

through his Iphone.

She is beautiful and reminds me of someone I used to love.

He is handsome and reminds me of someone I wanted to be.

They are living a perfect life.

They are doing what I want to be doing.

I am in their window invading their privacy.

I look into windows and sneak vicarious pleasures

from people that aren’t me.

I love seeing how they design their living rooms.

I love seeing people live without knowing

they have an audience.

I walk down the road

until I see another yellow square.

A portal into something I used to want.

The Gods See Sunrises Too

The windows light up

as the western sky turns dark purple.

I’m lying in a bed

with a tube stuck in my arm

that runs up to a bag

that drip drip drips

keeping me hydrated.

Later it will

drip drip drip

poison that will save my life.

It takes away my smart.

my imagination,

my comprehension,

my memories,

my ability to escape,

my ability to not be present,

my ability to feel good.

It is saving my life,

but making me sick

at the same time.

The windows on the house

on the hill

are all turning yellow.

Reflecting the sun

so I know that

I haven’t slept yet.

I’m in a hospital.

No one sleeps in

a hospital.

Are there faces behind

all the yellow windows?

Are there people

who aren’t sick

watching the sun rise,

enjoying the beauty

that is life and the earth,

seeing the hospital,

and the cross outside my window,

and not really see the hospital,

but just a sun peeking

behind the cascades?

Do they have a cup of coffee

in both hands?

Were they sick before,

but forgot how it was?

Will they always remember?

I turn so my back is to the window.

One more hour before they draw my blood –

again.

A Chemo Day

Every part of my body

is buzz buzz buzzing

in a sickening uncomfortable

way.

I walk through mud and try

not to get any in my veins,

but this is how I live.

The buzzing is constant

and nothing

will make me comfortable.

I can’t help but wonder,

would it have been fine

to die of cancer?

Is this really worth it?

I’ll just have to die later.

It’s insane to think one has to go

through this to live.

The words on the page bleed into

the paper – hiding from me.

All I can do is sit there and feel

the buzzing that clouds my

days with achy terror.

I want to be with someone,

but I can’t be with anyone.

I want to go out and see things,

but I just won’t.

She’s gone

but she’ll be back.

I miss her

She is going to tell

me about her day.

I need her to tell me

about her day.

We’ll watch our shows

shoulders touching

making each other laugh,

but she’s so far away

while I buzz and buzz.

She is the only comfort I have

right now.

All she sees is anger.

I don’t feel anger, but

it is the closest thing to how I feel.

I go in tomorrow for five hours.

Another five hours.

I feel like a burden

on everyone in my life.

Sick and buzz buzz buzzing.

I need rides.

I need cures.

I need for this to stop.

Do I really want to grow old?

Do I really want to do this for one more month?

Do I want to buzz buzz buzz?

I’d cry,

but I am too buzzed to shed tears.

Foreclosed in G Major

I stayed on the porch

as she drove off

in her car.

I cried

as the houses were

being built across the street.

Lonleyness immediatly

washed over me

as I pictured what just happened.

I will never be loved again.

I will never wake up with someone.

I will never kiss someone goodnight.

I will never feel a body next to mine.

I will never finish someone elses dinner.

I watched as

the men kept on building

the houses.

They didn’t know that

someone across the street’s

life had just been altered.

They weren’t concern

with how I was contemplating

as many decisions as a man can contemplate.

The men

kept hammering and shooting nails

into the houses that used to be woods

My brother and I

played guns in those woods

and used it to get to a friend’s house.

I had planned on

growing old with her

and now I was alone.

I had told

people that if one more thing

happened, I wouldn’t know what I’d do.

Now that one

more thing has happened

and I’m sitting on my parents’ porch

crying

as men built houses

and woods were disappeared.

I went inside to tell my dad that I just got dumped.

Lying Under a River

I’m lying on my back

staring at the patterns in the ceiling

wishing the Oxycodin would actually feel like something.

My stomach still hurt.

My soul still hurt.

I barely can use stairs.

I think about when I lived

in SW Portland and

I would walk or run

down to the river and back.

Mostly in the middle of the night.

Sometimes with Ollie the Dog.

Sometimes alone.

I ran all the way down to this pier,

and I would sit at the end of it and listen to the river

lap at the shoreline and the boats.

It was so peaceful.

During this time

I had a crush on this girl,

but she was hung up on some boy

that broke her heart.

I would stare down the river

at the Portland skyline

and all the lights

dancing on the water

as I wonder why she doesn’t like me instead.

It was peaceful being so melencholy.

Now I lie here in bed

with an angry scar down my torso

with one less testicle

with months to a year before I feel right

wishing I was on that pier

thinking about a crush

in the middle of the night

with a dog

and a beautiful city

lighting up the river.

She is a good river.