re:stacks

this my excavation and today is Qumran
everything that happens is from now on
this is pouring rain
this is paralyzed

i keep throwing it down two-hundred at a time
it's hard to find it when you knew it
when your money's gone
and you're drunk as hell

on your back with your racks as the stacks as your load
in the back and the racks and the stacks are your load
in the back with your racks and you're un-stacking your load

i've twisting to the sun I needed to replace
the fountain in the front yard is rusted out
all my love was down
in a frozen ground

there's a black crow sitting across from me; his wiry legs are crossed
and he's dangling my keys he even fakes a toss
whatever could it be
that has brought me to this loss?

on your back with your racks as the stacks as your load
in the back and the racks and the stacks of your load
in the back with your racks and you're un-stacking your load

this is not the sound of a new man or crispy realization
it's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away
your love will be
safe with me

reacquaintance

november 09 09 -
if you're still with me - wow. with this blog i feel like i'm fruitlessly reciting into a deep dark crevasse and listening to my echo, but in case there are people reading this, i'll extend a formal apology for my lack of (public) writing. i've taken to writing solely in my private journal for the past few months. although i have my reservations, i've decided to make an online catalogue for myself of snippets or half-thoughts for easy reference in the future. i'm attempting to compile a book of poetry, a reflection on the past year of my life. most of the poems aren't fully formed and are certainly not final draft. i feel like i'm at a very healthy, able point where i can resurrect memories properly while maintaining a sobriety and distance from the events themselves. a warning - by no means do i promise these poems or exerpts be good or profound writing. you have been warned.
i erv youuu.

into thin air

"i lay naked across the bed and listened to the sounds of the night drift through the open window. the jingle of ricksha bells blended with car horns, the come-ons of street peddlers, a woman's laughter, music from a nearby bar. flat on my back, too high to move, i closed my eyes and let the glutinous premonsoon heat cover me like a balm; i felt as though i were melting into the mattress. a procession of intricately etched pinwheels and big-nosed cartoon figures floated across the back of my eyelids in neon hues.
as i turned my head to the side, my ear brushed against a wet spot;tears, i realized, were running down my face and soaking the sheets. i felt a gurgling, swelling bubble of hurt and shame roll up my spine from somewhere deep inside. erupting out of my nose and mouth in a flood of snot, the first sob was followed by another, then another and another"

-excerpt from jon krakauer's into thin air, an account on survivors guilt after the 1996 Everest disaster. the book severely disturbed me, and in doing so secured a position as one of the best non-fiction pieces i've ever read.