Waiting in the cold, on a platform within in a platform on high, for the next junk train coming down every tunnel; that same tunnel that brought the works that encapsulated a life that may or may have not been hers at some point, but most likely not. A time when a smooth shuffle was appreciated, even sought after, now a steady gate to keep up pace with you and yours may be all that’s necessary, we’ll see, won’t we? She always got shushed and mauled from the upper cloud of Argentinean fog that was her maker; this time was no different, however Shane looked more devout than she could ever remember, but that’s how it is with little boys and their Mothers, even when that little boy isn’t little or technically a man, young, but a man nonetheless.
The Number 2 screeched to a low lulling halt and she shoved us on, rubbing her nose the way junk makes you do. Proper attention was paid by all male patrons as to be expected, even when she was in her dog days, she still had it. No denying the power that had my Dad falling out ted to take care of her…..in all of those ways, even the modest and decent ones, in spite of themselves. She was used to these kinds of displays, unhealthy as they were; it was the only pride she could cultivate for the 5’7 demented pile in front of her. Some would think it sad she supposed……not finishing on purpose; to no other’s understanding of the situation was she beholding to anyone. One of her scabs started to bleed as she picked nervously at it; she stared at the maternal vessel and wondered how it all went down like this, for so long, so normally. Once in a while it didn’t matter, but here in front of these people all wanting a visual piece, it mattered. Shane seemed to automatically go into Lance a Lot mode and began to exhibit symptoms of a son protecting his ailing Mother’s honor, problematic for him seeing how as that if ever, had never been in place. She on the other hand knew better. She made contact with the floor and became enthralled with the idea of different colored gum making a Rorschach of sorts all over the subway floor. The only approach to be taken in this situation was the one she assumed, less everything that way: attention, stares, shame, guilt and responsibility to the life the other she had chosen. She felt Shane burning into her in an almost kinetic rally to arms for their shared vessel that he would always know as “Mom” and she would always regret coming through that passage at all. She would later always be the reason for her writing at 4:30AM and beginning habits that she had previously put to rest but now they resurfaced in a feeble attempt to cope better with it than say…. heroin. The exhale is the hardest at that time of day you know, heavy pulsing beat of a heart that makes you want to sleep like normal people, however the experience won’t let you and with no outlet to forget, (as per your lover is sleeping so as to not parlay one’s sexual wants into reality, just you and the experience) these are the moments they claim you grow from and through, and maybe; too soon to tell isn’t it?
Up the stairs into the wet shiny New York night can be exhilarating or the longest plank to be known, depending on where and what you are hailing from and heading to. In this case, the plank was a safe bet, the only one to be exact, they all knew it. She headed east on 2nd herding her spawn like McDonald’s soon to be vitals and tried to keep the puke where it sat and not where it wanted to express to, she did an alright job of it considering; better luck next time, yeah? A doorway can hold solace, anxiety and or a mirror of things that were or have already came to be, an experience that calls and wasn’t learned and so here we are again; junk is that way always. We were at the door, the one that presented the latter. She entered and gave us each a set of works and a look to boot along with the other shit we were about to give the same fate. As I gave Shane the look, he refused my mental plea and put his pussy on the back burner and I was left with a still torn and gaping one, admitting mine and he became my plus 1. The smell of burning everything made its way up my nose and I knew the rest would make its way up the rest of me with my spoon falling out. She was already there, Shane prepared and I became the wolf and my Grandma’s spirit sat with me and protected me in the lair. Belt off and so was I, wish it was Thursday of next year……sometimes all you have is the wish of future unbeknownst to you that may be something of validity if you believe in things like that…..or maybe it’s just a way to get through the unspeakable, either way it was a fucking Friday and there was no changing that.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Part 2.
Waiting in the cold, on a platform within in a platform on high, for the next junk train coming down every tunnel; that same tunnel that brought the works that encapsulated a life that may or may have not been hers at some point, but most likely not. A time when a smooth shuffle was appreciated, even sought after, now a steady gate to keep up pace with you and yours may be all that’s necessary, we’ll see, won’t we? She always got shushed and mauled from the upper cloud of Argentinean fog that was her maker; this time was no different, however Shane looked more devout than she could ever remember, but that’s how it is with little boys and their Mothers, even when that little boy isn’t little or technically a man, young, but a man nonetheless.
The Number 2 screeched to a low lulling halt and she shoved us on, rubbing her nose the way junk makes you do. Proper attention was paid by all male patrons as to be expected, even when she was in her dog days, she still had it. No denying the power that had my Dad falling out ted to take care of her…..in all of those ways, even the modest and decent ones, in spite of themselves. She was used to these kinds of displays, unhealthy as they were; it was the only pride she could cultivate for the 5’7 demented pile in front of her. Some would think it sad she supposed……not finishing on purpose; to no other’s understanding of the situation was she beholding to anyone. One of her scabs started to bleed as she picked nervously at it; she stared at the maternal vessel and wondered how it all went down like this, for so long, so normally. Once in a while it didn’t matter, but here in front of these people all wanting a visual piece, it mattered. Shane seemed to automatically go into Lance a Lot mode and began to exhibit symptoms of a son protecting his ailing Mother’s honor, problematic for him seeing how as that if ever, had never been in place. She on the other hand knew better. She made contact with the floor and became enthralled with the idea of different colored gum making a Rorschach of sorts all over the subway floor. The only approach to be taken in this situation was the one she assumed, less everything that way: attention, stares, shame, guilt and responsibility to the life the other she had chosen. She felt Shane burning into her in an almost kinetic rally to arms for their shared vessel that he would always know as “Mom” and she would always regret coming through that passage at all. She would later always be the reason for her writing at 4:30AM and beginning habits that she had previously put to rest but now they resurfaced in a feeble attempt to cope better with it than say…. heroin. The exhale is the hardest at that time of day you know, heavy pulsing beat of a heart that makes you want to sleep like normal people, however the experience won’t let you and with no outlet to forget, (as per your lover is sleeping so as to not parlay one’s sexual wants into reality, just you and the experience) these are the moments they claim you grow from and through, and maybe; too soon to tell isn’t it?
Up the stairs into the wet shiny New York night can be exhilarating or the longest plank to be known, depending on where and what you are hailing from and heading to. In this case, the plank was a safe bet, the only one to be exact, they all knew it. She headed east on 2nd herding her spawn like McDonald’s soon to be vitals and tried to keep the puke where it sat and not where it wanted to express to, she did an alright job of it considering; better luck next time, yeah? A doorway can hold solace, anxiety and or a mirror of things that were or have already came to be, an experience that calls and wasn’t learned and so here we are again; junk is that way always. We were at the door, the one that presented the latter. She entered and gave us each a set of works and a look to boot along with the other shit we were about to give the same fate. As I gave Shane the look, he refused my mental plea and put his pussy on the back burner and I was left with a still torn and gaping one, admitting mine and he became my plus 1. The smell of burning everything made its way up my nose and I knew the rest would make its way up the rest of me with my spoon falling out. She was already there, Shane prepared and I became the wolf and my Grandma’s spirit sat with me and protected me in the lair. Belt off and so was I, wish it was Thursday of next year……sometimes all you have is the wish of future unbeknownst to you that may be something of validity if you believe in things like that…..or maybe it’s just a way to get through the unspeakable, either way it was a fucking Friday and there was no changing that.
I m Trying.
A shadow that doesn’t remember its foresworn duty
You forgot to distribute among the masses of secrets you promised, yet its ok…
Ok for that wave to lift up and over the expectations of what you claim to be beholding to me
I know a hushed existence is an existence all the same and I shouldn’t complain, I know I shouldn’t…..but I can’t help wanting more than what they show, what you show, what is presented by a haze that almost has form..
I don’t expect that you’ll expect me to stay the same, but the beauty is that I will…..and you won’t. ….The best outcome for this late, late train..
I hope to see you out more than a window but maybe in the day to day, the day to day that make up a life with you
With me
With the matter that takes up important space and holds its weight along with my breath on every word
Hanging
On your lips.
I’m hoping for a same exactness in a spindle of an awakening that opens a door we can both fit through….you’re the only one I see
You’re the only one who sees me….in the dark, in the light in the rainy day that I couldn’t see two feet in front of me and here we are
Here we are in the
In the space of a series of moments written before we came to be
Before I knew your smell
I hope I stay the same in the middle of it all
I hope you are equipped
Can only imagine that you are, have to be, were inducted into the safe haven that is the caretaker apparatus that binds me to you and you to us and us to all of it.
I’m awake, going, going, going, going…. they all touch me
They all sweep past the idea of me
I’m here for a moment….you pull for me, act accordingly to draw me into the blue, that home filled blue, I want to try.
I want to stay.
You make me want to stay………….finally.
Whiplash on my face equates to a past relived not on my own volition, but an autopilot unwanted….you ask it to take its leave, I rest.
Rest a spell for you to enter…… an exhale worth making mention of suits me in a way I was told impossible
Unattainable
For a torn little girl……she maybe alone for a bit
May be alone on her own, who knows who’s coming, mental hygiene will be in better shape this time
I‘ll make sure of it.
So afraid that embrace is fleeting, but know it’s not, wishing not to wish, afraid to feel you forever, afraid not to…making it not cold, exhale, exhale just to breathe you in
This place
This place
So foreign, so different, so what I want to be used to
I hear you, I hear you, it’s in the works baby, I promise…..
I’m trying.
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