the new year

january 1, 2009. 3:37 am

forest lake, minnesota

this is a cold hour

you didn't tell him

that you held your cheek

against my cheek

in the quiet

in the dark

of your garage

because you wanted to see

how

it

felt

(in june of

last summer

after i spent three days

in a car)

or

that you didn't 

want

me

to

leave at all

or

that we talked for

four hours (twelve thirty 

to four thirty) the night

before 

your greek

final this semester

and you were all smiles

all the while

or

that we talked 

three times yet again

that following week

for

several

hours

at

a

time

or

that you texted me

after that even

a couple

or

few

times

or 

that you quote

me and

the things i write

all

the time.

you didn't tell him that

did you?

no,

eric

is

always

the

bad

guy,

the

instigator,

your

scapegoat.

you say

you tell

him

everything

and we both know

                                that you don't.

collab

we made this together.

ett/mkk

i want to show you

i want to show

you all these 

places, all these

things. 

i want to 

show you the lakes

and the streams, 

the firs and 

the geese,

waddling around 

all confused.

i want to 

show you the 

streets i used

to watch over 

and walk as a 

boy with my brothers

and two 

closest friends.

i want to show 

you the room where 

i sometimes sleep or

stay up til all

hours

of the night reading

or writing my

mind away to

a typewriter, wordless 

book or computer

screen.

i want to show you everything.

highway

sixty-one and the place

where i crashed the

three-wheeler when i was 

twelve and the nook

where my grandmother's shop

once was and the cliffs by the 

river

in saint croix and the colors 

and the leaves and the 

people

and my home. 

now i write on 

the back of a yellow 

sheet of notebook paper, a makeshift

schedule for the

warehouse job

i just got 

where i'll be

working ridiculous

hour

and

becoming exhausted

as the days drag on.

i want to show 

you all these things.

please, let me. 

living in this disconnect

on this update:

back in MN

back home.

books are unpacked.

slept in a real bed last night.

slept soundly. 

church plant meeting tonight.

work on portfolio will begin soon. 

reading spurgeon's "lectures to my students" will begin soon. 

doing the daily crossword in the paper will begin soon.

fixing my car will begin soon.

working will begin soon (Lord willing).

so many things will begin soon. 

on that note, you'll figure things out. (soon?)

borne into frustration as the sparks fly upward

monday morning

this road leads to a place where you're uncomfortable around people with half arms and broken legs i find my pens on the ground so when i write it's never lost it's found these limbs leak blood onto parchment and tell tales

sunday night

weeping ruins evenings take this face off you take this face off me we don't deserve the rods we've driven through the other worse worse you take me home listen to the crack of dawn and the breaking of the age and remember me

postal worker drunk

struggles reek of undecided sentiment bitter me bitter you bitter world around the two burn the books in the ground i beg of you cast them down tear the sheets and rend the shirts and feed them to the flames wipe my face off everything and please forget my name please forget my name

the way she said panopticon

i came halfway across the world to get away and you wouldn't think the middle east would be a safe place car wrecks take more sons than car bombs and when everything is gone hate holds the town and i'm safe here next to russians and jews and arabs who want to kill me you're here you're here please leave me be and fall asleep tonight wretched sick pictures flood your mind and mine and i can't sleep at night

this is a death trap

when you close your eyes and birth your tears that's us dancing in the rain with jails and broken vases under our feet and we're in pain give us wings LORD and we'll fly away and bleed all over this city when we leave wax seeps from feathers and we fall towards some spear-like church steeple only to be impaled by each other turned to stone then gargoyle

tell 'em howard hughes said so

silence takes her toll and gets the best of these withered hands and tones reflect ills of society rust covered countenances glare at me and all the searching and the yearning causes you to see the same room isn't the same room anymore the same room isn't the same room anymore the same room isn't the same room anymore please leave

an anthology of celebrity suicides

river boats and rats become the norm see them swim through the murky swells of severence and discontent passive parishes engulfed in silver flames contend for the sympathies and rescue work of angry men all the while anchors drag and bosuns scream and yell at the devil's crew who possibly escaped from hell hopes and dreams are buried with antiquities borrowed burdens play the fool and test my shaking knees