Dan Mack

Photographer ~ Videographer ~ IG: danmackrep

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After reading long she would rub her eyes As if to get out some of the words that had been So crammed in This was like a child, And I can’t show you, but now Imagine years and years of waking up next to a girl… On white sheets, in the morning sun.

Each time you wake, See her rubbing her eyes as if to get the night out She does this habitually, and you notice and notice

Now she is gone, waking up alone you rub your eyes- But there is nothing to get out, and instead you open them Expecting to see her, You see nothing

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A Death in Belgium I'm hoping someone is there to water, Before the leaves fall off The flowers strange and fragile Like your hands and heart. All these thoughts, seep in like steel rain Running down a mountain side. Down your face, makeup mudded with black Soaking into skin Into the ground, rain tears Drip down through the cracks Twisted like road maps of memories Kissing the seeds on the inside Sprouting Calla Lilies on a hillside Somewhere growing Twisted with loose white pedals Like a man wrapped in a bed sheet Softly sleeping in the sun. Dreaming, always Of his beautiful daughter.

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Reflecting on my granite childhood.

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Casually stalking girls on christian mingle in a cafe Recently released from a prision in affection Caressing nefew and mother and sister Freedom keys of fresh air The acceptance of dress on, sleder hips Of thin fabric, thin skin, thin patience Again free.

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Leaving New Orleans

The color of soft hands in The new orleans oil painting The sky with peach and plum Your room the palate of months Huges of hopps and parsley And you, too, are part of the scenery, It has made you. Whole cities of you love, Beat with pain, Freeze over like the ponds Reminiscing of the dock swing The glass picture frame of winter. Maybe she knows your face, but She does not know your name. Cites of maids in black You all, you all, you all, I am back

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Move On

Next button to fall off my shirt Next papers to get loose and Fly away in the wind like doves Next girl that smiles at me As she drives by in a car at 40 I swear none of its meant to be Yet, it avails Maybe its in the Girls that have strong backs and Shave their heads The ones with fishnets Breaking hearts and taking names Maybe if a sexy lady with Good feet gave me a good Kick

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4

On the hinges of our fridges, corroded, cold, aching with mold On the clank of the whisky bottles Chiming in the dry wind The cold not kept in And all the notes of your arrival In crumbs and quick climb of the stairs. The crawling under each doorway, dark With longing, soft bending of the floor boards The hum of Bill, the hum Of a saxaphone down the hall, all of us, Singing, sleeping, moving, watching, listening, Sitting on the quiet, Listening to the floor crack its knuckles The drapes showing skin in the breeze The slow pour of a bottle, Chiming in the hour.

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A Last, In Los Angeles

Me, the self serve- Pumping gas in the LA-ness Squeeze softly, For the last fifty cent drip The stomach; which is accupuntured Like the ozone, night sky Holds gold in the womb Me, the canvas of skin and sin In sickness and in hell Veined like fall, skattered As the city And dry as the sidewalks Me, before I- Loving like I sing So poorly. and so often In the softness of our bed Cloudy and weird I before e, in your riptide mind Me, one more hung over prayer Squeeze softly- For a last lingering scent Hot pressed to your shoulder

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672 Miles

Traveling like this Is a cold dose of minority I’m the same In every rest stop bathroom The sky- alabaster white Above every aunt crawling freeway The pavement still hot Like our lust Livers and eyes Our endless street name lullabys Where we were dizzy through Charolette, chere, Blue bell way, And emily drive There are so many of me Fallen asleep in the back seat Here and there Where 1 and 4 have an std 1 in 3 are your soulmate We are so littered across Continentents Fading like leather seats In the sun

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Waiting will age you- It is not the Amber glow, fogdogs Of ciggarettes in the night And burn Of tequila that softens The soul But the long sweating Of our minds in thought In the bright bathrooms Of bars, the music etching The walls of grafitti You and you Making eye contact Mirrors of alone

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Woke to coughs and Shallow breathing of The boy next door, Heard sex through the walls Saw nothing Fucked silently in my Cell room Broken lock door And a vent that tells all. Only the walls were listening Our skin glistening The hum breath of the fan A geography of Wall paper and Splintered hard wood Our lives just noise Cold and muted moans To an echo house Of ghost walls

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I still cant love I must have left it somewhere With the henna ink and Ring Still on your dresser Your watch is still ticking In my bed side table drawer Timing my dreams With my patience and Ive now lost 13 games of pool now Becasue of you Becasue the billiards beg for Blue smoke The way you begged for 8 ball And I missed the side pocket More than you ever missed me Thinking of what you must have Talked about With him For the 6 hour drive on the Way to an Anaheim hotel room