#gypsythreadspoetry

“My Jesus year.”

Seriously knowing

the power of words.

Let it be Jesus,

let it be You.

The broken mind,

and desperation.

Let it be Jesus

quietly wading

through my moments.

Lamenting,

“It took you so long,”

but then if it’s Jesus,

there’s so much weight around us. 

everything is weighty even when we make 

a way to have less gravity. 

maybe not the right things, 

though, 

are weighty, 

the hips

lips, 

and thighs, 

always wondering if you forgave.

forgiving you always and waiting to hear

“I forgive you” myself.

as if that communicates all the little raindrops that form the waterfall of

comforting, releasing and cathartic tears.

screaming in able pillows of

white,

spotless of dark matter.

words, whispers,

holy prayers.

never was I half hearted.

to hate the words now,

seems unreal.

it was countless imaging,

many regrets,

and feelings of

so low, baby.

this is what told me all I needed to know.

it’s the asking that is the lock and the key.

how could I miss your safe

tequila dripping down my neck

peppered with salt.

help me feel something of myself,

you in relation to me.

gulps of harder-to-talk-these-days,

and satiated in the hearth of

letting the words fall out.

hard and clean,

shattered just exactly right.

how we are not supposed to be.

is this vulnerability?

i told you mostly,

i shook well.

you listened,

each little piece,

every little breath of air.

reaching out in the darkness.

when it was too late to recover,

you swam through the sheets.

tired of trying,

waking up alone,

sweaty palms and empty arms,

to hold me home.

the paradox of our story.

i needed to be touched so badly

it hurt.

it haunts the memory,

of you of me.

upon waking:

the tucks came undone

without unraveling the bond,

the pillows lie motionless

abused,

in the floor.

they heard me

slump over quietly in the night,

beside your body,

lying open with unclenched

hands.

offering

the silent sobriety

of wasted efforts.

I didn’t know you moved

and then tenderly found

the saving grace of

two arms

remember the broken places like memories and keepsakes 

for present stabilities.

in mind increasing capacity for creativity, released into the veins of a broken society.

a world of apes into 

not-quite-yet-men.

colorless integration paired with a 

Fatherless generation.

always having to pick sides,

with Ma up north and Pa down south.

ain’t no love between the pair.

but they keep down the nine-to-five.

so, who care? 

it’s a miserable existence,

that is

baggy eyes and headlines.

sleep is for the weak they say,

but it’s all lies. 

imma hypocrite

but i got deadlines.

boss man won’t let me speak,

wife won’t keep me if i’m weak.

worn out pillows hear me weep, 

elude the morning,

keep the sheets. 

but yesterday was okay.

what happened to that?

the pink skies and cherry lemonades 

turned to Daniel’s 

ina bottle.

pills on the dresser keep me on my feet for 

the ‘morrow.

imma beatnik 

like Roman candles

Jack had pixie dust in his feet.

the earth engulfs the small