jr

New poetry by yours truly. . .
feedback is welcome if you feel so moved.


The Connecticut Poem
by JR

I already came.
There's nothing to do.

Apparently there is not enough of me
to answer questions I create.

If that's the case, I take the blame.

You wear unmatched socks by choice.
I choose (with care)
how I decide to wear my name.

I'd say the first is worse,
but you'd complain again.

&, believe it or not,
I'm not much up for negativity tonight -

not yours, not mine.
We're seeing other people anyway,
with imaginary names,

whose names are ours
in some sick way, but not.

Emotions peak before holiday.
I will not hang my hat on you.

It is like gambling on the tide,
with a storm on the horizon,

and I forgot to check
the charts provided by the paper.

The over/under of the undertow,
the point spread at my toes,
curled around a smooth pebble. . .

Arrive, depart, arrive, depart,
the stuttered rhythm of my eyes.

A bus, a plane, a plane, a ship,
the rising rhythm of your breath.

A month, a year, one last semester,
the crazy tunnels of your hair.

It's not that I've grown old,
OK, perhaps it is.

Love should not feel like
driving through Connecticut,
should it?

Another arrival,
another departure.
Friends talk to me about survival,
and others won't shut up about
music.

What I let go, I'll never lose.
I'll make you nothing,
and then nothing I will choose.

Look here, behold!
The great balancer of Boston,

tight ropes tight enough
to choke the most worldly

of the Irish King's
young modern men!

Tuck me in,
& make stealth tracks,

the likes of which my brain
will never comprehend.

Wake no one.
Touch nothing.

Move like a secret
through the night-dusk
of my fingertips.

Waste not, want not.
Move on, get lost.

Strange ghosts
make ghosts
underwater in my
whatever-I-have-lost.