At Sea
Posted by Garrett Carey | Filed under Poetry, Print
People always tell me
it wasn’t my fault. There was nothing
I could do, her depression
was beyond my control, I loved her
harder and longer than anybody could;
half of life is just
showing up.
It’s natural
to offer a patch of consolation
to a wounded friend
when you, like nearly everyone
lack the needle
or the medical skills to stitch them up,
but there is always something
I could have done, always
some point I can be better,
some eye contact, some curl
of the lip, some honest human
reversion to dopey, sundrunk courtship
with all the tiny wonders
to blur the big looming questions of life
into the background.
I could have found a way
to anchor her to a reality bent and
burning under the millennial pressure
of love too silly to know it has a definite place
in time. There was a right moment
to lean over and remind her
through the gloss of her tears
that she has a favorite flower,
an ice cream shop in Queens,
a first time. To be touched
lovingly is to fold
all of your possible futures
back on to your single, lonely past
and let them crush it out of existence.
It’s simple magic,
honest, endless, cheap.
The truth is
there is no destiny or duty
to a life at sea. Sailors set out
because they’d rather miss home
than be there.
‘09 Spring Show Footage, Day 2
Posted by Garrett Carey | Filed under '09 Spring: Dream of a Ridiculous Man, Poetry, Show Poems, Video
Video Playlist
‘09 Spring Show Footage, Day 1
Posted by Garrett Carey | Filed under '09 Spring: Dream of a Ridiculous Man, Poetry, Show Poems, Video
Video Playlist
Untitled
Posted by Alysia Harris | Filed under Poetry, Print
ain’t
tasted
you or me
in a good while.
are we still salty
at the edge of our words?
no. eventually we all
forget what made us so gallant.
we stick to what we know, clichés like
kissing in the rain. shitting in the sunshine.
cran-
berry
juice and Sky.
buzzed off a blood
red sunset in a solo
cup. i fly that way solo
ego and liquid fire fuel
flushed, i am beautifully human
flesh on fire. don’t tell me how to burn.
i
burn like
a paper
airplane and light-
er in a bathroom
stall-ing age and pissing
away a dream. i can smoke
till the nicotine sings like Nat
King Cole way before my time. i don’t
know what he’s saying…just like how it sounds.
right
at noon,
speak easy
sounds like me. mute.
the liquor loses
its bite. glittering a
lone and stiff necked each bottle
crowded and cold shouldered. me in
between who i am, romance and sex
less love, the kind that’s already a sin.
for
fuck sake
don’t let me
drink tonight. i’ll
say something i might
mean. and it will sound like
nothing. i mean nothing, in
the quietest way possible.
(i wrote who i love down on my skin…
why keep writing when you’ll never read this?)
