where i’m going is where you might be

things are about

to go back to

normal

to a place of

anxious comfort

and

empty

meaningless

“how are yous?

fines.

and yous?”

 

looking for love

around

three-quarter-

felt-grey walls

short enough

for me

to peer

over

at peers

 

staring out

wall-to-wall

windows

on the 12th floor

wondering

what the freshly

paved asphalt

feels like from here

 

cords wrapped

around limbs

wrapped around

phones

covered in wires

wired to devices

entangled

in

an

inter-

office

romance

 

plastic bag lunches,

lunches with

plastic bags

(hold the latex)

 

and in another world

there are

kids that carry

food up,

down,

and around

the mountains to feed

their families

while i swivel about

in this ergonomic

chair

sipping on a

vile

ten dollar

organic super-detox

juice

figuring out ways

to pass the time

and sneak away

from my family

 

there has to be

more to this life

This Life

but the flickering

tube lights above

play tunes like

the living horror

movie inside

my head

 

I tried living

a simpler,

No, not simpler,

A fuller life

once

but it turns out

I fear originality

 

I cower in its

presence

 

and

maybe,

but probably,

and

most certainly

worst of all,

I’m a slave to

the taste

of

expensive alcohol

nice clothes

fancy shoes

sports cars

bloody steaks

pretty women

moral bankruptcy

apathy

and

white male clichés.

 

-JDR-

reunited with no attachments

someone i know

died a couple weeks

ago

and it’s not the first

time

someone

from my

label straddling

generation

has departed

before me

 

some people i know

reunited with

people they once

knew

last week

to reminisce

about what they

used to be

twenty years ago

 

pictures

and all

 

posts of

receding hairlines

extra inches around

the waist line

crows feet

crowing desperately

at the vanishing

act

of youth

with a

shared

confused

disdain

for the youth

of today

 

kids and marriages

addictions and hiccups

half-truths and

full-blown lies

ripple

from the smooth

rocks

skipped

smoked

and

concentrated

along the flooded

streets of

tears from

dead dreams

and empty

pockets

 

one two

three four

they went they came

less and more

more or less

 

i watched from afar

a safe distance

from the

palpable despair

 

without a care

 

without a care

 

-JDR-

fire hazard

the water level

is rising around

the clogged drain;

dried tears and

saliva

kidnapped

by loving women

have blocked the exits.

i showered where crazy people

lived and recovered.

i ate beside them

without utensils

and instructions.  

i stood in line with them,

waiting for our measured

doses.

i sat next to them

watching

images on a screen

while they pissed

on the floor.

i read the new yorker

while they laughed

at the voices in their head.

we held our pants

and shorts

up

with our left hands

because

our belts were taken

and our right hand

was searching

for the handles

hiding

in the darkness.

it’s interesting

where a

broken heart

can lead you.

-JDR-

exit wrong floor

And

just

like that,

the

inspiration

was gone.

days went on

for weeks,

months passed,

years disappeared;

he died in his sleep

dreaming about her.

he should’ve said

something on

that elevator

instead of watching

her get off on a

different level.

doors closed.

the doors closed,

but never the memory.

-JDR-

aftershocks

your tongue envelopes

me like

tsunami tidal waves;

everyone should run for cover.

 

the crest of your lips crash

on my lustful heart;

my emotions run for shelter.

 

the arch of your back

breaks the barrier

I built for my heart.

 

gripping the roots

of your hair

for dear life

only intensifies

the situation.

 

my depression can’t handle

the transfer of energy

you’re hurling at

my fragile self.

 

the aftershocks have

me booking one-way

tickets on stolen

maxed-out

credit cards.

 

there’s no return from you;

lifeboats are deflated,

I’m hoping to drown in the riptide,

so i can die on a high note.

 

-JDR-

leaning

i picked her up

at the travelling

circus

after-party

(yeah, there is such a thing),

 

lines off the

funny mirrors

 

carnie threesomes

 

cotton candy bushes

 

fried goods

 

we’re all part of the session

where we learned a valuable

 

lesson

 

that some things

shouldn’t be mixed

 

like whips, tigers,

and orgies

 

nor can they be won

by tossing

oversized balls

into undersized

jugs

 

or aiming syrup

at the

clown’s mouth,

 

testing my strength

consuming the weight

 

flopping around in the cage

 

down and out

and over the hill

 

put out to pasture

put out to pasture.

 

-JDR-