WEBVTT

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"What Are You Crashing Into?"

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I'm crashing into my
hands, my spicy beard,

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and my logocentric society.

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Lately, my hands are too
much a human boy, trying

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to pull ideas out of the rock.

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I'll tell you what
I really wish.

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I wish my left
hand was a guitar,

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and my right hand
knew how to play.

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Just my hand though, I don't
want my mind in the mix,

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mucking everything up.

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You know how that
always happens.

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I say to my life,
I'd sure appreciate

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a little love, or a sunset,
or a steak done just right.

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And it gives me those things.

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But whenever I ask it to give
me what's really missing,

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what would fill the cave
inside me, what would turn me

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into a real song instead of
just a rattle in the breeze,

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life gives me birthday
cake and a few lines

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about how little time is left.

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In those hidden moments when
I can touch loss itself,

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my breastbone is a string
pulled tight enough to pop.

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My heart underneath
is a hollering shade,

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like those thirsty
ghosts Odysseus meets,

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who crowd in when they
smell the scent of blood.

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To drink makes them
feel real for a moment.

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At night, my eyes
grow red with tears

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for all the people I don't
know, all the thoughts I have

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to keep pickling in my head.

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I can't tell the world I'd
like to be as wind, coursing

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over mountainsides
and into cities,

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through all your
houses and rooms,

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touching everything, touching
every one, touching all of you.