Errant heat to the star
The very last IV I ever did was in this convict, chains and everything, it was the overflow ER room 13 and his veins like sewer pipes the 18 gauge I couldn't clamp off quickly enough created a flowing river of deepest dark crimson and I had felt his vein pop like the skin of a water balloon, the first time and the last time. And I still think sometimes about the decisions that we make and how the hell anyone can be certain, but at least now I know how insignificant it is, that uncertainty. How would you spend your free time, buddy, face down in someone's curb lawn/following the difference that you can make/this small sphere of that which is mutable [and how fleeting it is, happiness. But how open to you.]
He was joking with me the entire time, the convict, I was so nervous because I don't know but you never get used to puncturing the skin of someone that you don't know and watching that crimson river you just made snake its way down all the way down the tubing and the direct line now inserted into their being. I don't know how to take that lightly, just don't. Don't see anything wrong with that.
Tell me something, when you say that life is short, life is the longest thing that we have.
The taste of slow cooked and barbecued meat melting onto my tongue and the way it feels to press it into the roof of my mouth and let it just simmer there for a moment. A swig of beer and summer. He looks at me from across a game of cornhole and some small talk with the other women around and there it is. Obviously of course at times there is a prickled hair on the back of the neck and an irritation but that look across the lawn like that and the sticky sweet of the summer meal and the chores yet to do once home and I have never been so certain as in this moment, of what it means to be half of a greater whole. A family. When I got home that night, after the last IV, I was sobbing already before I even opened the door and he didn't say anything or ask questions and just said with so much seriousness, what do we do to make this OK? Have always been the one to say that, regardless of the situation. How absolutely incredible when the voice in those words is not yours.
There is something that I have to tell you of such importance, of where we learned to celebrate, and my liver, my God, and how Irish learn to hide these types of things, and how can I ever tell you of all the Vodka that went into that giant Roman head but yet how much that means. Why I don't paint anymore. Only a virgo would understand, I think, to front like an extrovert and be the most painful hodded fountain heart bruised introvert. Never gonna break, never gonna break, how fucking funny. Here is what I really honestly believe to be true, Buddy, that you are the reward for a life (lives?) of good behavior.
I was a tender age, aiming and it sunk and we were apart and it seemed so vacant and to call her later, after, and the panic-sound end of the line. And before that, nothing, and after that, to skateboard down division and I had the flu and he was so much entranced by these huge red lips and then after and I thought how much time we had, so much time, and he said well we might as well and I said well we might as well. And now to think that I called that thing love, my God! how we learn as we go. A blashpheme. You will un-ruin Washington for me and I already know that. I wanted to cry, the time my father and I hiked early spring and it was so cold and the split pea soup we ate and I said to him, this tastes like Christmas, and I said that and he smiled and I thought there really is no way to convey the gravity of that statement. How long it has been since I felt like that, since I felt like home. And morass and you creep through and lose sight and the ice holds your heart you forget that eventually the winter nights shorten and the frost line is above you, and you see what green looks like again, and you remember. New growth. To remember, and that green, and how it feels like the first time you ever saw it. Because maybe it is.
He was joking with me the entire time, the convict, I was so nervous because I don't know but you never get used to puncturing the skin of someone that you don't know and watching that crimson river you just made snake its way down all the way down the tubing and the direct line now inserted into their being. I don't know how to take that lightly, just don't. Don't see anything wrong with that.
Tell me something, when you say that life is short, life is the longest thing that we have.
The taste of slow cooked and barbecued meat melting onto my tongue and the way it feels to press it into the roof of my mouth and let it just simmer there for a moment. A swig of beer and summer. He looks at me from across a game of cornhole and some small talk with the other women around and there it is. Obviously of course at times there is a prickled hair on the back of the neck and an irritation but that look across the lawn like that and the sticky sweet of the summer meal and the chores yet to do once home and I have never been so certain as in this moment, of what it means to be half of a greater whole. A family. When I got home that night, after the last IV, I was sobbing already before I even opened the door and he didn't say anything or ask questions and just said with so much seriousness, what do we do to make this OK? Have always been the one to say that, regardless of the situation. How absolutely incredible when the voice in those words is not yours.
There is something that I have to tell you of such importance, of where we learned to celebrate, and my liver, my God, and how Irish learn to hide these types of things, and how can I ever tell you of all the Vodka that went into that giant Roman head but yet how much that means. Why I don't paint anymore. Only a virgo would understand, I think, to front like an extrovert and be the most painful hodded fountain heart bruised introvert. Never gonna break, never gonna break, how fucking funny. Here is what I really honestly believe to be true, Buddy, that you are the reward for a life (lives?) of good behavior.
I was a tender age, aiming and it sunk and we were apart and it seemed so vacant and to call her later, after, and the panic-sound end of the line. And before that, nothing, and after that, to skateboard down division and I had the flu and he was so much entranced by these huge red lips and then after and I thought how much time we had, so much time, and he said well we might as well and I said well we might as well. And now to think that I called that thing love, my God! how we learn as we go. A blashpheme. You will un-ruin Washington for me and I already know that. I wanted to cry, the time my father and I hiked early spring and it was so cold and the split pea soup we ate and I said to him, this tastes like Christmas, and I said that and he smiled and I thought there really is no way to convey the gravity of that statement. How long it has been since I felt like that, since I felt like home. And morass and you creep through and lose sight and the ice holds your heart you forget that eventually the winter nights shorten and the frost line is above you, and you see what green looks like again, and you remember. New growth. To remember, and that green, and how it feels like the first time you ever saw it. Because maybe it is.
