Bookmarks and Coins

Soon enough,
there will be handfuls of two cents
being shoved your way:
tiny offerings with the most heartfelt meanings
extra large “because I said so’s”
big bowls of emotional soup
piles and piles
of cents

take ’em all,
toss them over your shoulder
or
file them to a folder
in your mind-
because actual folders full of loose change makes
no sense.

eventually, you’ll count them all
(not at once mind you)
there may even be a select pile where you got 4 cents, 8 cents and yes, even twenty-five (because conversations tend to drop off mid-sentence; those are your half cents or unfinished cents)
roll the coins-
make your own purchases
look back
those coins,
flip them over in your palm
when you need them most
remember the moment they were given to you
remember, if you can, who gave them to you
conversations will begin
fanciful throwbacks to
how it was,
new age findings of
how it should be
current affairs on
how you should go about it

oh yes

take it all in stride
smile with grace
tuck them away
little feathers in your hat
because there will come a time
when you may need those two cents
the reminders of how it was will play out like a well-produced musical
I promise

on an afternoon when you’re standing in a store
with a cart full of nothing
yet busting at the seams
when you can’t stand the sight of the paint on your wall
the way the carpet doesn’t fit just quite center in that room
or how you suddenly can’t recall where you set your coffee cup down
you’ll feel a scream rising up from your stomach and into your throat

stop for just a second
(maybe two)

pull those dulled coins out
to remind you that we understand
we’ve repainted rooms
thrown away carpets
and your coffee cup is probably on the bathroom counter
and let the scream escape,
you’ll feel so much better afterward.

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Drip this

It’s just a simple two-page paper
Times New Roman
size 12 font
on Jackson Pollock

drip
drip
drip

have another drink

He was bullish
mad
brilliant even

Yet I cannot string together
eight sentences at a time
that will form tiny squares of letters
blocks on pages
that contain cohesive
thoughts

to accompany
a recreated painting
I’ve done
and
I
am
so
tired
of
working on this
project
weeks
months
here we are now
two days from
deadline
and

all I want to say in this paper is that:

Jackson Pollock was a painter. I’ve seen his works in museums around the world. They’re interesting, yet I was not moved.  He died in a drunken car crash. Jack the Dripper. Gone.

Two pages.
I just need two.

2/30: Time

You wanted to smother me
Instead, you ruined me

I spent seven hours crumpling
piles of paper
and
seven more hours ironing them back out
because I forgot to scribble
all the best parts
that mentioned
the unmentionables

If I could, I’d bore a hole in my skull and shake you out.

JB

 

If I could brew thunder

in my lungs,

I’d drown you with a

storm of words

My lightning would singe

the very center of you-

leaving eyes dark.

If I could

whip the wind against

your back,

leaving you standing

stung and stinging,

I would.

There would be no end

to the storm swirling in my

chest

You’d never have a moment

to prepare or recover.

If I could,

I probably wouldn’t.

As I see you’ve already

conjured up your own

perfect storm.