30 in 30 2016: #7 Old friends I never had

Old friends I never had

Old friends have shared history,

that I can’t ever seem to learn.

All the ones still around

are still tender with their newness.

I’ve always been awful with

dates and times of events.

Dreaming of being a better person

from the back seat of the car I didn’t fit.

The morning took me by surprise

and I worried about getting

away with it on a dead battery.

Life has not been a succinct series

of story-lines that wrap themselves up

before ever getting too complicated.

I’ve always tried to keep hidden

long enough to forget about them.

After a lifetime of bad calls

and “I obviously know best”s,

most nights I prefer sleep to adventure.

I’m getting good at pulling punches

with my better judgment,

throwing the fight,

getting chased to the dawn by

the mistakes I made,

laugh running from the rain

covering my exit and

keeping people from

noticing the trails of smoke

I leave in my wake.

30 in 30 2016: #6 Obscure Fears you didn’t know you had

Obscure Fears you didn’t know you had

Katsaridaphobia is the fear of

finding a roach in your silverware drawer.

You’ve got no idea how it got there,

or why all the traps you’ve put out

aren’t luring them in,

but now you wash everything

before you use it because you can’t

look at the drawer without seeing

that wriggling black spot scamper

across your eating utensils, take out menus, and unused chopsticks.

Peniaphobia is the fear of

an unexpected rent increase

at just the wrong time.

You’ve been getting between your paychecks

with just enough room to breath.

Then like a grain of sand

in the gears of a music box,

it decides to change the tune,

making it harder to hear the melody.

Now whenever you get mail from the rental office

your heart sticks in your neck while your stomach drops to your knees.

Atelophobia is the fear of

not saying the right thing

to the right people

to get where you hope to be.

You’ve got skill and ability

to follow your dreams,

but you’ve always been bad

at convincing others to gamble on a long shot.

Maybe keeping all your talents hidden

is just your way of keeping

the world from knowing

you don’t think you’re good enough.

Cherophobia is the fear of

the other shoe dropping,

seeing the easy streak ahead of you isn’t real.

Things can’t possibly be this nice,

if they are that means I’ve missed something.

I’m too relaxed and I let myself

forget something important

it’ll come back to shatter all this happiness.

Graphophobia is the fear of

words on paper.

Writing them down gives them meaning.

Admitting the faults you feel

is asking for someone to tell you they are true.

Reading them back you tell yourself

they are just words

they don’t actually hold power over you.

You tell yourself this,

but the hesitation is always there when you start.

Until you remember bravery isn’t

a complete lack of feeling afraid,

but instead it is knowing your fears

and standing up to the cascades

of doubt despite of your worst efforts.

30 in 30 2016: #5 The ocean puffs out its chest

The Ocean Puffs out its chest

The further inland you go

the easier it is to neglect to remember

that it is even there.

The ocean does not forget we are there,

It sits caressing our shores,

letting us live behind our breakwater ridges,

collecting what we’ve tried to hide

from the dry land.

It still takes pride in the way

it swirls between us.

It’s still holding all of the pieces of ourselves

that we hurled past the shorebreak.

Carrying fleets of messages sailing for the lonely.

Reaching out with sea-soaked notes

to swear to strangers that

there is someone else out there

standing on some other shore

chucking similar dreams into the waves.

The ocean is pushing back

against the people’s indifference.

The ocean is a sensitive soul.

It does not like to be forgotten.

It gets easily offended by

poorly thought through good intentions.

Now it’s foaming fists beating upon

the soft sand that secure us,

Smashing up against us,

because this is the only way to remind us

just how much there is out there.

A glass surface horizon that goes on forever

until the a curve you can’t see from where you’re standing,

pulls the waves down out of sight.

It’s all so impossibly large

there is no way to get your arms around it,

no matter how much you want to hold on

and reassure it that it will never be forgotten.

30 in 30 2016: #4 Sleep comes to the thoughtless

Sleep comes to the thoughtless

My most restful nights have all been

ones I can’t remember.

A still brain that couldn’t fight

the hypnagogic fizzle of exhaustion.

The texture of the ceiling above my pillow,

matches the back of my eyelids.

I have given up

on trying to get there.

I was never destined

to dream through

darkest parts of the night.

Sleep comes only to the thoughtless.

My brain loves an excuse to keep me

attentive to ideas that can wait for tomorrow.

All night my hypnopompic thoughts remind me

of what I’m not doing.

My brain will never get out of bed tomorrow

I’ll be fighting myself every stumble of the day.

I am assuring myself that

I might not be sleeping,

but at least I am getting some rest,

and that will be enough.

This is the familiar lie I tell myself

when I’m facing a whole tomorrow

of nothing I want to deal with.

30 in 30 2016: #3 When the world ends I’ll treat you like a Queen

When the world ends I’ll treat you like a Queen

In the uneventful end of the world,

everything will fall apart around us.

We were not made for this.

No one was made for this.

We have so much potential

that we have been afraid

to let reality infect.

But we’ve prepared for this

by scraping by on

the meat of our bellies

At the end, we’ve made it,

We will get through it,

and we can point out the houses

we’ve dreamed of raising a tomorrow in.

If the world suddenly decides

it’s got a place in it’s heart for long shots

before everything falls apart,

then I’ll be first in line for our share

of the universe’s cosmic karma,

creating balance for all the shit it shoveled.  

One way or another there is a future

for us where we’re relaxing in a

living room with a wide open view of the Pacific.

There is a time when we stroll

through the aisles of grocery stores

getting whatever we can carry

instead of only what we can afford.

I swear that I see an approaching horizon

with our silhouettes laughing with each other

even if the sky burns down around us.

30 in 30 2016: #2 He Just Shows Up Uninvited to Dinner

He Just Shows Up Uninvited to Dinner

This could have been cooked better,

your taste-buds are probably lying to me.

They can’t taste through

your day’s worth of strong coffee,

and commute of rush hour exhaust.

You made this too messy,

I’ll get it all over myself.

Makes me self-conscious of that

flavor saver I got hugging my face.

Food mustaches on top of real mustaches

are embarrassing for all the mustaches involved.

My uninvited dinner guest is already

second guessing the way his food will digest.

It’ll keep him up half the night

like an angry brick in his gut,

holding him down with an uncomfortable weight.

He whispers inside my head as

I chew my food trying to ignore him.

I’m always hoping his criticisms

don’t derail and careen away

from anything constructive.

That was way too many calories and you’ll get fat,

you shouldn’t have added any salt you’ll have a heart attack,

you over seasoned it from the get go it tastes like you’re trying to hide something,

you let it cook too long and it’s burn,

you didn’t let it cook long enough and you’ll get sick.

He’s quiet enough inside my head

I can drown him out with conversation,

or good TV, or worrying about the next morning

that’s coming too soon.

He’ll always show up when

my day was too long

to give the end of it

the attention it deserves.

If I find some free moments

to spend too much time

thinking about dinner,

planning out all the steps in my head,

preparing for the problems I had last time,

and keep focused on watching it cook.

Those nights the smug bastard has nothing to say,

as his words melt in my frontal lobe

after my parietal lobe body slams it with delicious.

30 in 30 2016: #1 The Family Beard

The Family Beard

I grew it cause I didn’t like shaving. 

Not the act mind you, it’s always been 

that mess that it makes that drives me insane. 

Unclogging the face scratchings from the drain, 

mixed with the potions and concoctions designed

to tenderize my flesh. 

Growing it was easier than not growing it. 

I clipped tugged twisted stroked and twirled 

the corners to pull it into 

an exaggeration of the face it hides. 

I haven’t seen my upper lip in years.

When I wipe clear the clouds that a shower has accumulated, 

peel back the layers of tangled strands that enclose my face 

and smooth the scruff on my face, 

I see my family’s generations of blue eyed 

brown haired septum deviated men 

hiding out in the structure underneath. 

I wonder if they ever saw future generations in their own reflections

The mirror above the sink 

holds a foamy mouthed mad mountain man,

who needs a haircut,

scraping his meals from his teeth 

so when he gallops his way to work 

he doesn’t pant a cloud of coffee death into his whiskers.

On mornings the Pacific hugs the shore so tight
it bursts into clouds of sea-salt scented fog 
condensation trails off the edges of my profile bristles,
leaving wet traces of scented oils on my shirt 
as I race through the morning wondering 
if there were any other men in my lineage 
that collected the same sort of ocean in their beards.