Words of Jordan

the full moon rises and some new evolutionary  development intervenes: we have forgotten that we are animal our basest faults, tied to our bones, the salty taste of our blood but restraint becomes the hallmark of a life so delicate and were we so human, that night we looked out over the bay and blue gave way to green yellow orange purple black and the dewy grass couldn't cool you down were we so human, in rationalizing but it was just a very basic response the primordial will to survive fearful of the variable

What a gift, what a crime to be alive at all. What a sordid mess we've all walked in on a happy accident in the dark best forgotten a note left behind: we were never here

Don't you remember? The way the light played off the morning dew after we stayed up      all night talking about how it's all going to end The spaces in the conversation on all those hours long phone calls,      all the "still there?"s The tree on the ridge that bent to a real crook, that I thought I could      climb, but couldn't The night I ate mushrooms with Marty and was fearful of the pulsing      night sky throbbing above The taste of your red wine and my cigarettes folding together      in a hot moment The smell of the bonfire a few blocks down when you cried on the      front steps The hungry feeling after I got ripped off in Denver and we got to L.A.,      with $4 to spare, no safety net The lash of flames against your cheek when I burned my novel and the      whole damned can went up The quick flutter of the heart when you woke up, whisky worn off,      and felt the warm touch of my shoulder against yours The light sort of rain that fell the day you took a chance on a better man,      how it fell with more scent than substance I collect these moments like stones to carry toward some unknown destination, some place atop the hill, a backward sort of place where you still remember my name

We carried the weight of the people we'd been like heavy stones. Sometimes openly, in our palms, sometimes hidden away in pockets. The weight was always there.  Only when we came together did we set our stones beside each other and marvel at how fine they looked together. I often wondered why we spent so long carrying these things that held us down like that.

the clouds rolled by and the trees bent and swayed, both tossed by the same wind.

The lights, the lights So soft and warm A kind touch in the dark Soft tunes lazing In the too hip atmosphere Candles lit and votives out How forgiving a place The cigarettes are too much But the beer is cheap And how warm, how rosy my cheeks Thinking of you In the basement bar of Coventry Of the things we did to one another Thinking of The lights, the lights

I have a tendency to be a despot in love this is something I did not know until much too late I overidealize and I built you up to be someone so much different than who I fell for originally worse, still I overidealize myself. perhaps more of a crime and all the more regrettable felt so damned sorry for myself when I had an equal hand. So, I'm sorry. I'm not who I used to think I was, you deserved so much better, and it took the long way around to realize that. Please remember the finer bits and forgive me,  for this is a penance, and it's all I have left.

   Reblog

     The sun rose over the placid harbor. The tugs hadn't left dock yet. Freighters were still chugging along at ten or so on the Canadian side. The single sound over all of the North Coast Harbor, save for the occasional squawk of gulls and slosh of minor chop against the starboard side, was the twist and click of the key turning tumblers and opening the stern gate to the GOODTIME III. Rubbing sleep and hangover from his eyes, he turned a new key in the door's padlock and opened that, too. He strolled along the familiar deck. The same ragged carpeting he'd walked miles and miles upon. Up the forward ladder to the second deck, and doubling back toward the aft end of the ship. Looking out over the lake, he was disappointed not to spy any freighters coming in, or any expectant tugs waiting with the same patience and diligence for their laker as a loyal dog showed waiting for his master to return home from a long day of work. He walked to the aft stairwell and continued up another deck, and turned to his right to marvel upon the skyline so many take for granted. Burke Lakefront Airport, the Doubletree Hotel, The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Science Center, the Browns Stadium, and the William G. Mather. Just as quickly as he turned affectionately toward his city, he turned back as he had thousands of times. He strode the length of the deck and let himself into the pilothouse. He sat down in the captain's chair, laid hand on the wheel, and looked out over the harbor with a keen eye.      To do anything else in the morning, he thought, was such a waste.

The things that once stirred him fireflies blinking in the canopy of the tree line the autumn smoke smell on that old red hoodie beautiful girls in sundresses and sunglasses walking downtown the sky reflecting green across the water's choppy surface cool rain on a warm day  these things came to taste like ash and all that mattered was good friends and strong drink