It's been a while
"The Enervated Pianist"
She spelled her name out with sleeping twigs
and jumped as if she were the first to think of it.
I danced on the keys and blew her a song.
Her lips caught the tune and made words to sing along.
As beds turned to sofas and sofas to chairs
something felt less full about our air.
We slowly undid everything
we'd saved and saved like wedding rings.
Our neighborhoods' smell of burning leaves
Every old car I sit in. Smell of cigarettes.
All blurred details of childhood vignettes.
The lukewarm shower gives me
a fresh coat of stale water
and the drain coughs up its lunch.
My phone don't ring anymore.
My shoes don't move
from the floor.
On this rainy Christmas,
the closest thing to snowy white
is the gray mist falling through cracked streetlights.
On this rainy Christmas,
I wish for something new
that someday soon would end
so I can find myself again.
It may be that I once refused
what I've always wanted.
The thought of which
will make me want it evermore.
It may be that when I sleep
I will see her again,
see and smell my past,
and reach, and reach, and gleam.
I've had this dream.
I know where it goes.
Tonight I play my glass piano
from which the melody shakes
but all the keys and wires break.
The hammers shatter every string.
This will be the last time that I sing:
"I no longer want what I once chose
I wish those other doors, and I, had not closed.
I wish my ages came in reverse.
I wish my mother's womb was my hearse.
Then I could always feel warmth and love.
Never be alone, and be sure someone's above
waiting and hoping for me to be as perfect
as they know I'll be."
She spelled her name out with sleeping twigs
and jumped as if she were the first to think of it.
I danced on the keys and blew her a song.
Her lips caught the tune and made words to sing along.
As beds turned to sofas and sofas to chairs
something felt less full about our air.
We slowly undid everything
we'd saved and saved like wedding rings.
Our neighborhoods' smell of burning leaves
Every old car I sit in. Smell of cigarettes.
All blurred details of childhood vignettes.
The lukewarm shower gives me
a fresh coat of stale water
and the drain coughs up its lunch.
My phone don't ring anymore.
My shoes don't move
from the floor.
On this rainy Christmas,
the closest thing to snowy white
is the gray mist falling through cracked streetlights.
On this rainy Christmas,
I wish for something new
that someday soon would end
so I can find myself again.
It may be that I once refused
what I've always wanted.
The thought of which
will make me want it evermore.
It may be that when I sleep
I will see her again,
see and smell my past,
and reach, and reach, and gleam.
I've had this dream.
I know where it goes.
Tonight I play my glass piano
from which the melody shakes
but all the keys and wires break.
The hammers shatter every string.
This will be the last time that I sing:
"I no longer want what I once chose
I wish those other doors, and I, had not closed.
I wish my ages came in reverse.
I wish my mother's womb was my hearse.
Then I could always feel warmth and love.
Never be alone, and be sure someone's above
waiting and hoping for me to be as perfect
as they know I'll be."