heart attack

i thought i was happy to be home but the familiarity is making me sick

memories lie around every bend, on every corner, at every stoplight

like a graveyard of moments spanning for miles in every direction

a graveyard tailored just to torment me and it is my anchor 

tombstones wink at me as i drive through my gold country

down to sunrise boulevard where the remnants of my childhood 

are still smoking feebly and the ashes catch the delta breeze

there are ghosts everywhere, there are eyes on me, i can’t fucking breathe

this is what a heart attack must feel like

dozens of arbitrary, violent flutters of my most vital and fragile organ

what a persistent, loyal little thing of valves, chambers and muscle 

to continue pumping life through my body

all i want is to disappear, to not burn everything i touch

so i’ll pretend i’m someone else for a night and i’ll smoke until my lungs burn 

and once i’m alone again in the deafening silence of my room

i’ll close my eyes and think of another place, far from here

some new city, green and misty, somewhere you can smell the sea

somewhere with kind people and gentle smiles

somewhere life moves with you, not against you

somewhere i am not me

and then i blinked

what a conundrum growing is

it just occurred to me that there was

no caution sign with flashing lights

warning us of the dangers ahead

as we sped forward with fervor

going 99, our faces to the sun

i don’t like to reminisce 

the memories are blurry and fogged, yet

a handful of vivid images play on the horizon

just yesterday we were downtown

our shoes claiming miles of pavement

diet mountain dews and a nikon d3000

just yesterday patriots park

was a hazy escape of cigarette smoke

and laughter under starry, summer skies

just yesterday the river glittered

just for us from our solace of a shady tree

on the bank as frank played on the radio

and then i blinked

and your words tug at my heart

as bitter sadness flows freely like 

twin rivers from your green eyes

it’ll be alright, go pack your suitcase

leave the laundry and the dishes

i’m on the street with the engine going

in the getaway car and we’ll fly west

to the blue coast with an old nikon d3000

and let the stars watch over us again

and the speakers remind us that

“we’ll hate what we’ve lost but

we’ll love what we find”

so even for just one, tiny

thrilling, ephemeral moment

pretend like it was before

without a thought for regrets or heartbreak

just give me one more second here

before i have to blink again

vickery park

maybe keeping my eyes shut will stop me
before i think too much

because the swirling rainbow pinpricks 
behind closed lids cannot distract me

from the buzzing neon reflected there
in your searching, inscrutable gaze

the haze of a scuzzy bar and glittering bottles
did not prepare me for

your fervid sigh into the dark of my room
or the longing brought on by miles on an odometer

and i’ll think of your hands

while mine grip the steering wheel

and i’ll wait for my phone screen to 

light up again with a 2 a.m. drunk text

and as state lines pull us apart i’ll pretend not to notice

your fingers crossed behind your back 

as you press send on the empty promise of

“i won’t be forgetting about you anytime soon”

arizona

the highway is calling me
beckoning me towards its vast
and empty spine

double pinpricks of light 
so insignificant
in those dark, sprawling veins

the dark threatens angst
so i wait
to be swept up in a storm

and dropped off by the wind
in the midst of my gold country

where the rolling foothills 
are scorched and burned

begging for the open sky 
to weep silver tears
down upon us

so i can be cleansed too
and i will scrub myself bloody

to be born anew
and shed my old skin

the highway is still calling to me
easing me into the long, winding stretch 
of nothing 
and everything

i am just a double pinprick of light
in the darkest hour of the arizona desert

the dark threatens angst
so i wait 

for the sunrise

amalfi way

bright, clean and welcoming 

a simple house on amalfi way

it knows the delicate feeling of happiness

it knows the bitterness of betrayal

it knows the cheer of a christmas morning

it had many lives move through its bones

how long did it watch over me? 

can it remember what i can? 

the innocence of learning “please” and “thank you”

the sound of training wheels and lawnmowers

shrieks of laughter coming from the trampoline

a small hand gripping a bouquet of orange cosmos

loquats hanging on low branches like drops of gold

lost lunch boxes and scraped knees

forgotten toys and spilled nail polish

climbing up to my pine tower above the world

where i could see the kingdom of roof tops

my kingdom of roof tops, my city of trees

until i got too big to slip in between the branches

until i got too big to ask “why” and say “no”

until i got too big to be scared of the dark

now some new, happy, wholesome family

has painted my green front door to black 

and the driveway that used to be my canvas

boasts a new artist’s colorful work

do they know that was once my garden? 

do they know the love that grew the lavender? 

do they know the hands that painted the walls?

even so, how could they not want to stay

in that bright, clean and welcoming

simple house on amalfi way?

恋しい

everyone describes nostalgia as a soft, warm, yearning feeling of missing something/someone. the older i get, the more nostalgia seems to be a cruel reminder rather than a bouquet of fond memories.     

now it’s all just a bundle of moments fogged by time. dated and filed away - lost and unreachable. 

blurry neon lights, the smell of the ocean, pulsing music, beer bottles and empty glasses, voices getting lost in the cigarette smoke and i can hardly see it anymore. 

will i ever get to go back? 

will i ever feel like that again? 

神戸

who knew summer in texas could be so cold?

how is it that there was a time in my life where

the world did not seem to be trying to bury me

when sparkling lights and rounds of drinks

was all i needed to hit the pavement running

running into the city

where she patted my back gently

and whispered a secret for me to keep

how is that all i have left to remind me of her?

how could i have left at all?

she let me leave my footprints all over her

she let me intertwine my life with others

others who loved her more than i ever could

those who settled in to stay

i want to smell the sea in my hair again

to hear the train crossing signal

to feel the humidity stick to my skin

i want the haru no ichiban to blow me away

so i can sleep within her atmosphere

and envelope her in a final summer storm

of my bitter sorrow for not even saying goodbye