& thru the world, fire

fire, fire; &

with a breath, your body births

a miracle

that is the music. if i shut

the door between the back porch &

the sun

room where

you had your first kiss

then it is the space between

your hand

& the white snake of the garden hose

the wild

flowers that fill the front yard

in summer; in summer’s gaping mouth

you blossom like wildflowers

wild

flowers in the valley your spine makes

thru your waist, your entire

body wet with summer as it

breathes you into miracle

this is the music

the sun makes in the

wild dark

the wild flowers filling the valley with

a smell like summer, hot as

fire, fire

& the sun in this room is

fire, fire

& the breathing of the garden hose

& the shape of my body filling yours

& the white snake of the saline drip

then it is your hand filling mine

& the heat of you there is

fire, fire

& the heat of your mouth is

fire, fire

at the moment your skin ends

(Lights up on BRIAN and DENNIS, both roughly 20, sitting opposite one another in a restaurant booth with empty plates in front of them. MITCH and LAUREN sit opposite one another in the booth behind them and wear black t-shirts. LAUREN sits slumped and resting her head on her hand, drunk. MITCH eats. They are somewhere between 28 and 45; hard living has made their ages difficult to determine.)

BRIAN

They both save people, they both always will, but down at his core Batman has way deeper motivation than Superman.

DENNIS

The dead parent thing? Come on, Brian Jones.

BRIAN

Yes, the dead parent thing. What can be a more powerful motivator than the dead parent thing?

DENNIS

Everybody has dead parents. Green Arrow, Spiderman, Superman too, for that matter.

BRIAN

When he was a baby. It doesn’t count as the dead parent thing if they don’t see them die.

DENNIS

Whatever, Brian Jones. Your uber-powerful motivator is still the same stupid thing that every other superhero has.

BRIAN

Batman watched his parents get shot in the streets while he stood there helpless. His whole life is trying to fix something that can’t be fixed, and he knows it, because no matter what he does people will still get shot in the street.

DENNIS

Dead parent thing for everybody.

BRIAN

Three cheers for the dead parent thing.

(They clink glasses of soda.)

DENNIS

Superman still has a better motivation.

BRIAN

“I’m strong, I guess I should do something?” You call that motivation?

DENNIS

It’s responsibility. No one else can do what he can, and he knows it. With great power comes great responsibility, and no one is more powerful than Superman. He can do anything. You were wrong about this argument in eighth grade and you’re still wrong now. You’re just wrong with bigger words.

BRIAN

My vocabulary in eighth grade was just fine, and it’s all abstract for Superman. Batman sees the dark reality, he lives it, he’s inextricable from it. He knows what Gotham is like, and he’s got to fight it.

DENNIS

It’s not about seeing the darkness, it’s about the responsibility of doing what you can. What time is it?

BRIAN

Couple minutes to one.

DENNIS

Sweet. I’m gonna load up one more plate before they close the midnight buffet.

BRIAN

To be continued.

DENNIS

You already lost, Brian Jones. It’s just taking you seven years to realize it.

(DENNIS exits toward the buffet. BRIAN gets out his phone and starts reading something. After a few seconds LAUREN speaks, too loudly and slightly slurred.)

LAUREN

How the hell can you eat anything?

MITCH

(with his mouth full)

Like this.

LAUREN

How the hell can you eat anything? After what Gary said.

MITCH

Gary’s a sick bastard.

LAUREN

So do something about it.

MITCH

What am I supposed to do?

LAUREN

Some girl’s out there laying dead in a ditch somewhere, and you’re just going to sit there and eat? How the hell can you eat anything?

(BRIAN looks up from his phone and listens.)

MITCH

Hearsay. All hearsay.

LAUREN

He didn’t talk like hearsay.

MITCH

He was drinking and running his mouth.

LAUREN

Some girl’s laying dead in a ditch out there!

MITCH

Just running his mouth.

LAUREN

Gary could have done it. He’d do that. Don’t you know Gary could do that?

MITCH

I don’t know.

LAUREN

He’s scary as hell. You know Gary could do that.

MITCH

I said, I don’t know.

LAUREN

Yeah you do. I do. I do…

(LAUREN shakes her head, MITCH resumes eating, and DENNIS returns and sits.)

DENNIS

Alright Brian Jones, here’s the big question. You say Batman’s more motivated. So let’s suppose your great hero Batman knows something bad’s going down, something that—

(BRIAN vehemently gestures for silence.)

LAUREN

She could be somebody’s sister. Somebody’s daughter.

MITCH

You don’t even know her name, so cut the shit. Gary was drinking and running his mouth.

LAUREN

Some girl’s body is rotting in the fucking woods, and you say—

MITCH

You’re talking too loud.

LAUREN

—you say he’s running his mouth, but Gary’s scary as hell. You know what he did to Shelly last year, and God knows what he did to this poor woman.

MITCH

Gary’s sick idea of a joke.

LAUREN

A woman dead in a ditch off Telegraph Road somewhere ain’t a goddamn joke.

MITCH

Gary’s a sick crazy bastard, and I don’t know what he did do or didn’t, but it ain’t my problem.

LAUREN

What kind of a man are you?

MITCH

Living. Hungry as hell. And smart enough not to fuck with Gary.

LAUREN

I’m gonna call the cops.

MITCH

Sure you are.

LAUREN

You’re so big and bad and you won’t do anything, so I’m gonna call the cops.

MITCH

Hearsay. Every word of it is hearsay.

LAUREN

Somebody’s sister is out there goddamn dead, and I’m gonna call the cops and I’m gonna--

MITCH

And what the hell are you gonna tell them? “I know this guy Gary who hits women, and he was drinking and said two years ago he killed one of them.” Good story.

LAUREN

He said it was in the woods off Telegraph Road.

MITCH

Telegraph Road is nine goddamn miles long. Now will you shut up? Somebody will hear you.

LAUREN

I don’t care if they do. Somebody’s daughter is dead in a ditch out in the woods somewhere—

MITCH

Drop it, Lauren. Shut the fuck up and go to the register.

(MITCH grabs her arm, but LAUREN shakes him off. MITCH exits and LAUREN follows. A cell phone remains on their table.)

DENNIS

What the heck was that?

BRIAN

I don’t know.

DENNIS

Should we do something?

BRIAN

I don’t know. Do you know where Telegraph Road is?

DENNIS

No. Do you?

BRIAN

I think it’s off Whitestown. I don’t know. Should we call somebody?

DENNIS

We have a first name, and a timeframe, and a location sort of. It's not everything but it's something. We should--

(MITCH returns to the table and picks up the phone. He notices BRIAN and DENNIS looking and glares at them. BRIAN and DENNIS lower their eyes, and MITCH exits. Some moments pass.)

DENNIS

We should get the check.

BRIAN

Aren’t you going to eat that food?

DENNIS

No… We should leave.

BRIAN

Yeah.

(BRIAN and DENNIS get up and leave. Lights stay on the empty set for a few seconds.)

(Blackout.)

in time, the stars begin to open. i run to where the sand is and you blind my son. i come close to epiphany: some broken strain of music that starts to play in an empty room, and as you open doors it becomes louder. you, the stars that are your eyes, the sea lifting against you so in the sun you break, just slightly. you were a young girl. the smell of blood in your hair, your body innumerating in reflection as light grows inside the belly of darkness, light that comes between buildings and i decide how far to love you, if i can sleep tonight.

She placed the mug on the table and asked me, ‘‘What is it you long for?’’ I guess my attempts at not looking, well, kinda restless failed.

What did I want? I did not really think about it. But one thing I was sure of was that whatever I wanted, or all I desired was just to do something- anything— not really to simply do it to pass time, no, whatever I’ll decide to do will be something that will bring change to things...at least that’s what I long for.

She cleared her throat. Ah, I still hadn’t answered her question. Uh, will she think I’m crazy? Maybe so, maybe not.

Anyway, I actually would like to know what she longs for, too. We might be able to assist each other with getting what our hearts desire~ aye.

#RELATIVE©

28/10/2019, lundi.

in the shadow of poughkeepsie

you take the label off a bud light

shape and reshape it—

here is a butterfly, wax-winged

here is the shape of the stars

as they alight, one by one

hang upside down and dream

and here is my father

bent origami-soft, his spine

endless in the dark as i peer out of

my bedroom window

i smell the smell of him, impatience

that liquor-shattered furious

look in his eyes, his hands shaping

and reshaping my body.

i miss you.

it hasn’t rained since,

the skies sunny with a happiness

i will never feel again.

to breathe air no longer inhaled by

your sweet lungs

is not air i want to live by.

you are my lifeline,

but your life has been stolen

by the greediest hands of death.

i’ve always been told to play it safe so i

created tumult in our lives,

created messes in vain with the

promise of tomorrow.

and what now? where is my tomorrow?

i’m so sorry baby.

i’m still hoping for a tomorrow,

for the day i’ll see you again, and you’ll

pull me into your hugs i made a home in and whisper,

i miss you, too.

your smile set off fireworks

on distant, shadowed shores

your laugh like a lovely illness

contagiously sweet to its core.

your stubbornness tested me

clinched fists under dinner tables

i would never win a single argument

despite all the ones you enabled.

your encouragement boosted me

a special superpower setting me straight

the dreams you knew I could accomplish

the dreams you had - it was never too late

your judgements shrunk me down

my weight, height, makeup - all issues

you spoke so bluntly, unapologetic

i sat in my room surrounded by tissues

your memories are ..

beautiful

resentful

essential

detrimental

tonight i watch as fireworks flash

each one stands out in the dark sky

and i hear children laughing

and i wish i could say goodbye.

because i still miss you.

and i love you very much.

was

a month ago. while

listening to my 'nostalgia' playlist

(bad idea from the start) That Song comes on

and I can't help it-- my love-starved mind wanders back

to a time in which you were real, tangible,

a mere two feet away. it felt wrong.

consumed by guilt, i swore

never to listen again.

was

a few weeks ago. while

taking a walk in the forest, I discovered a leaf

that touched the sunlight in such a perfect way, it almost

brought me to tears. i cannot tell you why, in that moment,

i ached for your touch. i can hear your voice now:

"it's nothing but a feeling, feelings pass,"& yes,

it passed, but I did not walk there again

for fear it would return.

was

last night. while

laying in bed I was overcome

with the sudden desire to be held, or to hold,

or to hear breath besides my own, to love. and i think perhaps

in that moment i did love you again. perhaps

i never stopped, perhaps i've been in denial

but it brought such unbearable hurt

that i swore to never sleep

in my bed again.

was

just now. while

doing my psych work i felt the need

to check prose and saw this challenge,

and even though it is so general and open-ended

(like many other things in life), i saw it and thought

of you. and instead of dismissing the feeling

i tore it open, reached in, found

all those little moments again

and this time it felt right.

(write).

so

i swore to never

forget you

again.

can we never map the moon again

if everything has become

so clear. if even the hush click hush of

revolving doors reminds us

of the airstrip, the heat of the

tampa baggage claim where i stood

for hours. a flickering mirage.

after sunset i brush the summer

from your shoulders and

ask you into the dark. tell you

how i mapped the moon at dawn

where it sank like blood back

into the clouds. and the sound of

the streetlights echoing us

walking home, something jerking

awake beneath your skin,

which is damp where i touch it.

everywhere i touch it. it feels

like the sun sinking back

past st lambertus on the riverside,

like i am kissing your neck and some

hysterical light is leaving you.

you go from a mouth so living into

a parody of heartbeats.

music in an empty room. and i

catch my breath thinking why

it hurts to see you go. it is

the same way i feel about girls

who cry after i fuck them. who turn

over and over in their bedsheets

and press out white roses, one

after another, round

and soft and moaning.

I miss you

My door is ajar as

I feel your bitter absence.

With a cast of the die,

your shadows hide behind

radiant moon,

slapping spokes of the stars.

My hammer pounds

your transparent presence -

I try to touch

wisps of smoke in winter.

You are a ghostly stowaway

hanging onto my pants leg

as I fluff pillows

with dreams

of fleeting apparition.

I reach up

to feel your mist

and play the piano

of your soul

as your spirit

vacantly stares.

Stuck between floors,

I exist for what was -

your footprints wafting

just out of my sight.

I shiver forlornly

remembering

breaths of our past

as bare feet patter

down an empty hallway -

a wraith who can only offer

a cup of empty.

I miss you as my tears

fall into yesterday.

Plucking your tunes

from your absent sky

I vacuum away

my sorrows of our past

holding your hand

until you fall

into the deepest sleep.

Translucent winds’ dance,

bathing your skin.

I pray to hear your words,

I miss you, too!