#jbwrote

[wild-as-elle]

Side A: Track 18-20

XVIII. Living Dead

I.

that summer the reservoir receded baring her skin of stones and weeds underneath

the humid breeze pulled resinous pine tree air through the grey hover —

there won’t be rain.

have mercy

II.

pull the shirt over my head summer bruises & freckles

the marine layer seeps & curls salty speckles clinging the air —

heart sounds like waves beating a far-off shore.

if you mean no harm                                 XIX. Take me As you Please

burns away the cold

the October sun yawns gold through coastal brushes and oaks before slamming bloody orange over royal blue waters and black cliff arches

green flash chasers: bound to the 1 until Big Sur

much later the thick forest night absorbs the car without hesitation.

you arrive with the trees, stand with the quiet, while the fire eats away at the logs in an encrypted pattern. i think it’s high time for a hike to who knows where.

i didn’t know i was waiting up, but when you stepped by my side into the darkness

for just a moment i could have sworn it felt right.                                XX. …Slowdance on the Inside

check every knot and strand for frays careful now

careful as ever beware!—this one will taste a bit reckless.

smell ozone lingering the grey hover, waiting for lightning,

gamble or play the odds, this bleeds like betting it all.

watch me try my singed best to save the rest, what’s left

to save the last dance cross my heart and hope to

[wild-as-elle]

Side A: Track 11-15

XI. Let’s cook us some breakfast and bounce

Golden hour forest meets grey seas then looks away

In the bat of a lash

The quail scuttle across the road swept under the tall grass

Like secrets

Fog hushes the redwoods looms over the trails

Visible: the ground at my feet

My feet on the ground how long how long

Do I got do I gotta wait                                                 XII. 

even though

the Lone wolf snarls she still cries to the trees

Promise me

Someone somewhere

Do I get to come home someday wash my dirty sore feet in warm water                                  

XIII. Burn

the heat shimmers off the flames the world behind veiled,

hazy             feverish.

bony pages of all the lies            piled high.

Don’t let the skeletons in your closet they said.

but what happens when one’s born there grows taller than you brews bourbon-barrel aged lies,

demands rent?

said nothing about how to sit down define,

regulate             talk it over.

spit that metallic taste —

that fear             a bit in the mouth.

i want to chomp it to pieces i want to leave.

i want to just burn

                                    XIV. God, Drugs, & Sex i. 

i sigh with incomplete sentences. If—

How can He— He, Whoever?

could i mean anything to Him Whoever? does Him Whoever mean anything to me?

and is it loud enough to drown their chanting — VALUE IS A NUMBER & YOU ARE VALUED

quick—tattoo it to your forehead! so no one forgets.

Who dares to fill out this grand blank space?

Who dares to offer an inheritance?

who dares to accept it?                         ii.

pinky promise: only the greenest curiosity.

after the carrot top white dragon wrestler spewed his smoke,

he simply handed us a crumpled roll-up. well.

it would be wrong not to smoke it, Stecker said.

it’s pretty weak he said — what do i know,

i giggled a lot at the ice cream shop. no need to worry but —

are you gonna stop loving me after you read this?

how we camped on the apple orchard hilltop and coughed until we fell asleep under the moonlight next to the dog?

promise: every regrettable decision i made i chose before the first sip.                          iii. Sex

like a dog sniffing intently at a crusting wound, then licks with a gentle tongue—

how can you ask me in the January air, while my hands grow stiff from the cold —

O where did i learn to love? maybe you don’t wanna know

no matter the amount of arrows in her side, a Starving dragon is a starving dragon —

the glass ball held up between us falls, shatters on the asphalt —

the shards look sharp enough to cut me to pieces. i fear you’ll walk across them to get to me.

i fear you won’t.                                                  XV. Hydra 

i sink my teeth like a fruit bat

and just as blind — sugar rush hunting

needs not patience or bloodhound senses.

see how

the pomegranate juice runs down my neck

ask me.

he sinks his teeth like a vampire bat

turns the blood to honey —

it oozes over his hands.

see

how my Heracles breaks my bones.

why do you ask me

where i sink naked crouched in the grey?

do i fear you or do i just fear losing me —

see

how each sentinel head sprouting from my spine

shouts a different name.

you ask me a third time

as you clean the kitchen sink

wipe the bread crumbs from the counter —

but you know you know you know.

see

how my love   breaks my bones

see how he carries me.

[wild-as-elle]

Side A: Track 16-17

XVI. Daylily (pink cloud summer)

rolling cotton candy fuchsia sunset prism billowing gunmetal thunderheads storm brew cauldron

cumulo cumulo nimbus nimbus

in a flash—

sheer

showers of daisies. alternates

greyest of rains, puddles collecting in the worn out

asphalt.

beneath a hoodie she rides

griptape cliffside skimming the sidewalk

noctilucent.

listens to the waves churning

against the black coast— looks out

for reasons to stay.                                  

XVII. Atlas: One

i. 

the straight line isn’t level.

even. consistent. or straight. enough.

the list gets longer                       ii.

in a flash—

go fast and fast and faster—                       iii.

to sing a song worth singing

i watch you sink beneath the mounding pile of

octave. key. pitch. rhythm. tempo. arrangement.

don’t forget to breathe--                       iv.

fast and faster—

stokes rolling deltoids, gastrocnemii

pounding wolf heart,

puppy eye gleam

a delighted hunt for nothing

but movement                       v.

never dilute your best.

but.

grace requires

neither measure. nor alignment.

[wild-as-elle]

Side A: Track 10

X. Rapture

you wanna dance? i’m an addictive commitment kind of animal.

when you call my name

oh, i’ll break my jaw over this

[wild-as-elle]

WATER: IPA

taxidermy animals with bras strung up on their antlers the dive’s floorboards creak down the stairs outside to the fire pit,  past the tan oak man teaching his parrot to wolf whistle, because of course Santa Cruz

a little stream of liquid slides down my glass right before i sit down hey i owe you one.

when we endeavor to cross our deeply forested statelines when time layers a thick film i can still find myself across the table holding a cold glass half full gaze into the gold brew full of starry-eyed bitterness units glowing in an aromatic aura: sleepy sun-soaked orchard of citrus trees bordered by sagebrush

i passed you my favorite at the end of our first day as friends all hail Tuolumne Meadows Epic IPA the brown bottle reflecting the Kirk Creek campfire centering the circle of dusty feet -- i remember my brother asking us something about landmarks in our spirituality the next day he and Sarah were done.

the jet and scarlet mood of the pub smacks moody punk but in clean hard lines & Edison style bulbs & fully sealed wood, framed in dim conversation, because of course Portland

times like tonight you’re holding something light and smooth other days like tomorrow you’re heavy and dark and for the last time leaving me on my friend’s porch still trying to blurt out

hey i owe you one.

[wild-as-elle]

WATER: clouds (revised)

          if i asked, she would:

         open up her arms to me like a poppy stretching its petals toward the midday sky. let me pluck her from the earth. watch her curve into any slender vessel with a sense of duty. fill the space with her earth & loveliness.

         but all too soon the stem of her spine would begin to bend. the leafy sprigs of her shoulders warping in ache. that golden radiance fading in a slow dim.

         i saw the way the Sun kisses her cheeks and the Soil tickles her bare feet.          i saw the way she burst into a mad sprint, laughing, as she plunged into the freezing surf.

          indeed, all too soon she would begin to ache and ask:

O, where is my Soil? O, where is my Sand my Surf my Sublime Thalassa? Darling -- O, where is my Sun?

         she would ask and i would have nothing to say.          she would ask and she would wither.

[wild-as-elle]

WALLS: X

encircled by the shallow wall of rainbow molded resin:

i’ve got your chalk on my hands. you seem so open laying there on your back. a glimmer of sunrise in your eyes; that look of home.

let’s play a game: traverse across the wall in opposite directions & switch. i’ll try my best to barely touch you. arm’s length away, remember?

i like it when we both win.

chalk dusts your clothes. calculate the impending movements en route to the ceiling, laying on our backs looking up at the grey fluorescent ceiling --

          “so, what have you been up to?”

what -- besides trying to forget you? arm’s length away, remember? “i mostly ride my bike.” let’s try something different. i observe your beta:

flexion. push and pull. tap and extend lovely poised toes.

when i stare down the final charge, you stretch out steady hands and tell me to go for it. still an arm’s length away, remember?

we each fall about four times before a victorious mantel over the roof.

[wild-as-elle]

WATER: “Song request?” (revised)

you queue up this immortalized wonder by Toto high-pitched and homeric and i bless the rains down in Africa while the wet Portland light streams through the tall windows.

i crane my neck in poor posture, sketching the palm-sized cedar branch i stole from the park.

the past is past and the future is far so they say all we have is now every inhale flees in exhale without batting a damned eye.

i stand and set the cup and saucer down in the bus bin recycling the neverending ritual of removal, and i wonder, for the fourth time, if 

i’ll ever see you again.

//

my knuckles turn to white against the black handlebars, streaming fast-paced and brushed oak and i never told you but it’s all in your goodbyes while the marmoreal Aptos weather ushers me down the bloodless coast.

nearly nothing exists; time runs its sheets of fabric over our outstretched arms as we grasp and tug at the corners in hopes to snag a thread.

in the wooden cigar box i stow under the far side of my bed i hide the remnants of each little strand:

some scarlet some navy some gold some grey.