The best thing about us
This carry on racket
I'll go
where everyone else goes
I'll be in
after the light
hollows under
& you'll know it
when you see it
how more than fist
and elbow scars
carry us across
the interstate
an absolute miracle
to still be
alive right now
fucking world
won't go
according to plan
need different maps
to draw the line
over a pulse so ill kept
so inside of you right now
that the outer skin blossoms like a name
you've kept hid
now stealing into the sun
don't think twice
it's not alright
but we know how to live off of very little
how to bleed without a cut
how to track & trace the things gone missing
shove them into our mouths
full fisted & weeping
so much of the soul is carry-on luggage
what matters most will not fit
three punches in
& your body crumbles
a voice from nowhere telling you to “just breathe”
it's been called the best thing about us
not knowing who we are.
Human Stuff
Nothing I hate more
than having to tell you
circumstances
change something essential in us
and
where the light goes
when it's not in your eyes
I have no fucking idea
how many little deaths you'll encounter
before you find the real one
bounced checks are what my mother left me
when it's raining I forget the words for what I've left behind
I hope this finds you unwell
and knowing a great many things you didn't know then
when we loved with knives
and broken curfews
and god is what you called a cab with a busted headlight
drove us home anyway
as it turned out we had no home
dashed from the fare there on the corner
of nowhere at all
I don't forgive you
this isn't a forgiveness poem
it's a “can I borrow 20 dollars poem”
a love song without the love & without the singing
there is fire in me too
you thought my fields didn't know dark days
I came from nothing but dark days
you were always luckier with the light than I was
you were a half inch taller than I knew what to do with
I was a bad name and I did not know how long it takes to hear yourself when called
it wasn't always shit
just more than we could handle
“human stuff”
my father would say.
The man at the 7-11, leaning in
He said, silence
put yourself in silence
he said, walk it off
until the tail lights deep blue
clings to your leaving
& every day is more or less
devastation in waiting
until you pull two hearts from your mouth
instead of only one
and you laugh, how life still goes on
after you have forgotten all of the names
attached to places
you'll never return to
in one piece
He said, silence
put yourself into yourself
and hold on
for dear light
is not long in this place
is already leaving without you.
Bio:
James Diaz lives in New York. He edits Anti-Heroin Chic and has a few
poems here and there like HIV Here & Now, Ink Sweat & Tears and
Indiana Voice Journal.
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