the folk art fest!

much fun. a sweet day in albuquerque. didn't make much money but i covered my costs plus a bit and got to chat w/ waaaaay too many people.my booth was in a great spot under a big tree w/ a good view of everything...

my yarns...a promo shot

dredging

lover pulls a needle out for his T shot and time stops
memory appears like ink on my vision and bleeds outward to cover everything i see
then suddenly w/ me is the lull
as he draws the liquid into the syringe emptiness arrives boldly on the surface of my skin
this feeling i must always carry
once stuffed into trash bags, weighted and sunken to the bottom of my life
the rig, the bottle, the pipe, the need, my friends
my goddam junkie friends i couldn’t trust as far as i could throw
people i loved
shot up and lost and wandering

I’m still wandering

It’s the feeling i carry heavy in the bottom of my life
the pull to stop caring and trusting to stop feeling
wanting to just disappear
cuz fuck this shit anyway
just fuck it

but the truth is i fight it everyday
the bitter break
the breaking weight
the bitter pull to give up
for all the need to go away

just go away.

to once again put my belongings into trash bags and head off into a lulling sunset
away from here
away from the dissatisfaction the disappointment the envy
the anger and the shame
get away from the feeling that I’m just waiting to die.

even with my lover on the bed beside me
even with laughter and righteous hopeful conversation sometimes streaming from my lips

syringe says remember the despair.

the clammy skin and rolling eyes and the stagger
the secret
the ones that have survived and recovered their lives
the ones that didn't
the spent love
all the sweaty desperate love that you just can’t trust

I just don’t trust me

not sure I’ve recovered much of anything, yet I’m here
don’t know why I’m writing this
why of all the people I’ve known and lost, I’m the one alive to tell anyone that cares to listen another sad story about bitter broken dreams
about flashbacks and hollow innards
about trash bags of hopelessness sunken to the bottom of memory

maybe I’m here to sing the story of needles and bottles and pipes and pills and fuck this I’m outta here
to sing the story of things you just can’t trust
to remind everyone including myself that there’s a poem in a moment that stops time and brings up danger from the depths

and in that poem that should or shouldn’t be trusted as far as you can throw it
there’s possibly something worth recovering.

thank fuck for the brilliant collision of youth and poetry.

theres a ton of these "brave new voices" clips to watch if you go to the youtube page. just fabulous.