if i were a god
if i were a god
if i were a god
i may be a better god than the one(s) we have now
but
i’d probably still procrastinate
and have too many things on my plate
and i wonder what i’d let fall by the wayside
[is/are our god(s) not actually terrible
but simply
forgetful?]
coffee
waiting for me
in the fridge
getting cooler and cooler
until it’s cold enough for me to drink
and feel it icing me
awake
[i wish i would have remembered to do this
last night, but the delayed anticipation is
a strange and new feeling
and i love feeling new
things]
wearing black
to mourn a version of america
that has never
existed
i cannot tell if these rumbles
are planes
or trucks
or general new york sounds
or maybe
just maybe
the actual call of
thunder
through this rainstorm
i want it so desperately to be thunder
but i cannot
cannot
cannot get my hopes up
without
solid
evidence
i thought i was busy
before working
five jobs
[six if you split up
the two i’m doing for this show]
and while the theatre gig is taking up
so much more of my time
than all the others
combined
it is the place i feel
most at home
and like i kinda know
what i’m doing
and i’m trying to listen
when my own guts
and the universe
say something
write
and write
and write and write and write
until you’ve exorcised all the demons
inside your own mind
the pull to listen to
my high-school-age sound-track
is so damn strong
helping to direct a play
set in 2003
in two boys’ high school careers
and high school emotions
and high school coming-outs
[comings-out?]
it reminds me so highly
of my own story in
2006
the first love
[though mine did not last]
[thank goodness]
the self-hatred and
fear of the world
as you find your own footing
in your own community
[though my church was not a christian one]
even as that shifts to a different community
perhaps a community
of two
“we’re keeping it alive”
“what?”
“each other”
is one of the truest moments
i’ve ever heard on the page
and i hope it still rings so true
to a public audience
on the stage
The Citadel shouldn’t exist
not morally, but physically
towers upon towers of structures in space
constantly needing rebuilding and maintenance
just the right distance from the biggest wormhole in the galaxy
that somehow makes its orbit stable
[for now]
it’s been around for a thousand years now
and some towers have more modern technology
than others, and still others have weird amalgamations
of the old and the new,
and even more feel like they’re still standing
still resistant to the vacuum of space
through a hope and a prayer
and maybe some sort of space magic
we don’t yet understand
but The Citadel still stands
and it really shouldn’t, if you think about it
but no one thinks about it too long
because once you do, you wonder if it should exist at all
and once you wonder, you wonder if you made it all up
and it actually doesn’t
a poem
like any other poem
it has words
that convey emotion
that convey a point of opinion/objection/intention
to get across
to others
a poem
like any other poem
uses letters
known by other humans
and sometimes other humans
understand the poet’s
conveyances
a poem
like any other poem
is called a poem
because a poet wrote some poetry
at one point
and put it out into the world
[even if that just means
onto a paper
no one other than the poet
would ever really read]
that poem exists
like any other
poem
urban
exploration
seeing inside of the abandoned sites
other folks’ eyes just slide on by
but i want to see
i want to know
i want to honor and pay homage
or, if i can’t do that,
maybe make up my own stories
[what kind of adventure would i write
about a hole in a church
barely covered by a pair of
unlocked double doors?]
kipventures 