Everything Bounces, Nothing Sticks
Art always looks the same
I just look different
Orbs of light hanging over
The strip of WW and 9th
Orbs of light reflected in the glass
Orbs of light welcome me on
The skybridge of Boone Hospital
No, wait, wait,
I thought in Ithaca
I am still king
King of this empty hall with
Side struts unseen, undocumented
A million thoughts a minute in Ithaca
Exponential and infinite unknowns
You would have me discard
Whatever’s left?
Everything bounces
Nothing sticks
Staring down WW like it was
Route 66
Everything bounces
Nothing sticks
Staring at your picture
In the infinite paint mixer
Art always looks the same
But my palette will
Always change; who knew your hand
Was the infinite paint mixer?
It’s over when I say it is,
Always and only when I say it is.
So, sorry I took so long
My memory became a mausoleum
Every turn down every lane was
A twist of the knife, and,
Like the plants,
Nearly everything is dead or dying
Everything bounces
Nothing sticks
Kicked up like topsoil, twisted
Nothing sticks
The problem wasn’t that they were homeless
The problem was that they had nowhere to be
No one to help,
No route to heal
The problem wasn’t that we wanted too much
The problem was that we wanted too much
From each other; and I,
Deaf and mute, thrashing iron in language
You could never understand…
It’s over when I say it is.
Everything bounces
Except this
I’m sorry it took me so long
Haunted by the shadow of my own creation
How my hands cradled you
Cradled as a cat
It’s over when I say it is
Everything bounces
Except this.
You Never Know
You looked cute made up
Lipstick and bangs clipped
I’ve been erring towards over-tip
She said maybe I can’t tell, and
I agree, but a I gave the blonde
110% just in case.
You never know, today could be the day
You never know
Nothing brittle, just binding; but,
If your heart’s in France, mine’s in
Florissant, in the way home is like a
AA meeting and the bar, in that you just
Show up and belong, and
You don’t have to guess
I’m coming home, and it’s like I said:
Always empty, a little bit
You will reject me
I will make sure of it
No one’s laughing anymore,
I have made sure of it
Swimming in pain
In the middle of Lake Ozark
In the cold, gently lapping water
A test of endurance, but not survival
A journey home.
Killablues
We’ve got talented people
We got food
That’s it
I’m coming home, Florissant
Someone will talk to me
Drawn in by the braids and
Lonesomeness, I will sit and
Expect nothing
Your lipstick was red today
She sat down, blonde center part
If I could stop time,
I would have told her everything, but
I stuck to the highlights
Got a new dealer
Turned down the shot
Open your umbrella
Doyle could not tell a lie
To save his life, but I can’t shut up, and
I’m a dime a dozen stanzas
So, I could tell you everything and
You still wouldn’t know the full me
Couldn’t hit the last cup until
My heartbeat matched the jukebox, and
The spiral formed by a million straight lines
From my butchered toe to fingertips
Was obvious
This is how the world is
One million microscopic rhythms
Spinning the dial on AM
Trying to find somewhere to tune in
And so, my love is arbitrary
It was colder than Google said
Had to be, freezing at 60
I probably should eat
The plate’s been nearly picked clean
All that’s left are ghosts
Our ruin reflected in our creation
Reflected in fallen pillars of our construction
Except that one, brave reflection of life
Little roots of weeds and trees
Crumbling concrete
It really doesn’t take long
The earth will claim the street
And, was April cruel, or
Was I just afraid?
Fists balled and trapped, grasping,
Begging the world to change for me?
Swinging, flailing in the trap-
Maybe I deserve to be alone
Maybe that’s not as sad as it seems
Maybe I deserve a second to breathe.
I got through maybe 3% with my therapist and thought:
“Great, you faked it again”
But I am all of these things
I’m just putting it off now
Looking at all the shelves of the bar in disgust
Disgust and the shame that drove me to drink
Same shame that drove me to stop.
The hardest person to love is yourself, and
Not your construction of yourself, but
The unconstructed fabric of you
Yet that kind of love
Comes from nowhere else.
Gian's Art Dump 