The Rain and Cards

What we were once was earnest heat and something melting.

Do not pour into me otherwise

((for you know it too)

but letting yourself believe it is a different matter)

You'll call yourself the eternal snuffer

extinguishing our flicker,

but you may have just reset us---

And so I'll smolder like coal till we become the sun.

Look,

Im not pressing further into a point we both may already know.

Im not washing over arguments we've rowed to the ground

like planted seeds

that will grow into trees

that either blossom or fade to wither in winter.

Im just telling you that when it rained and we played cards

it was simple and you smiled.

((And Im so sorry) but now I have to tell you that at times I can live off your smile

like coffee and my bed and the food we made)

When I heard the rain's finger tips spit against the window

to remind us the outside was present

and the chill flew in

and the smell of rain mixed with your hair.

You sat across from me.

We played a card game.

Your eyes held me.

I was breathing the right way.

Maybe Im making more of a moment you'll forget,

but I hope to hold that once here and now forever.

what I can't do

I cant write.

I can't scratch the feelings from my chest on to paper

and release myself from all the thousand tears

tearing at my throat hoping to be flooded out.

I cant convince heaven to intervene swiftly

and with great change

I only see the tiny impairments to reality

and the small salvations.

I cant keep a mood.

a swift sea change

more resembling menopause than sanity.

I can't win you back.

I can't win me forward.

I can't choose the right song.

to dance you to and out of our doubt.

I didn't mean to say that.

I didn't mean to bring that into it.

And I can't write.

I've got complaints for days and

the philosophy and logic to imagine all dangerous scenarios

leading me to crazy town.

I can't stop feeling.

I can't stop forming thoughts of what I never should have done.

I can't can't anymore.

For a time I have been seeing the moon more than the sun.

But not the shimmer glow, like the love of your life in a silver dress,

not that beauty of the moon, but the black and blue night

bruised by its failures of not being big enough to fill the whole sky with light

like the sun can.

Breakfast at Noon

This morning at breakfast, next to me, sat two mid-40's women. They chatted casually about life. The restaurant is located within an affluent area of the north side of Chicago. Its aesthetic is humbly demur, cute-chic; idyllic brunch option for this neighborhood. It is set up grocery/cafe style. Small tables, barely fitting two human beings, squeezed next to each other. Strollers everywhere. Children being talked to as adults, withholding equality. The patron demographic is the same. But with this sort money and need for relevant posh vanity comes a certain degree of depth. Two inches is depth too, you know? The woman next to and across from me is the main instigator of their earnest banality:

Halloween is just so overdone now. What happened to the door-to-door days when I didn't have to listen to every bored housewife's monotonous tragedy. I wish I were a Dad! I would get to go out with my child. It'd be much easier. How is Andrew doing now? Will he be okay being out with Mark? or is that still an issue? I hope not.

She continued in this nature for several minutes, with the lesser interested one, directly beside me, sorting through the ideas. There is no tone of exasperation or overdrawn shrill, they are merely talking, very seriously, about how annoying Trick-orTreating has become. I have sympathy for them. Not pity, but sympathy. They care so much because they have nothing of import to direct their attention. They long for passion and love their families and their comfort, so they fixate on the social implications of Halloween being on a weekday this year. The one next to me, she cares, but at a distant. I think she knows that they are discussing something somewhat useless. Her affirmation is just involved enough to propel the other further into the subject. But she is certainly not asking questions. And I'm fairly positive she knows I am listening. I haven't moved in a few minutes and my chicken sausage patty is not that riveting.

A gaggle of children follow behind their Mother Goose. They appear to be Italian geese. All dark featured, olive skinned, inherited from their father.Three boys clad in school uniform, private school, khakis and white polo shirts. The lone little sister is in pink tights and tutu'ed. They all gather, long-faced, around the cupcakes and pastry section, but Mother Goose is here to purchase expensive locally made olive oil and a wine bottle with a trendy label. By her approach to the labels and vague wondering stares she knows nothing of wine. Merlot or Pinot? need not be asked. What is the sweetest? and will this impress them? are the only questions.

But who am I to judge? I am the guy, sitting by himself, way too into his breakfast, staring around by himself. I am overly contemplative and writing. Before I came here, when I was hungry, I sorted through all my previous patronage to find a “cute and good” place to sit and eat and waste time before I went to the gym. I'm no different than the woman next to me, or next to and across from me. I've got too little to do and too little to care about. I actually spend most of my days trying to care about more. I'll finish my breakfast quickly now and move on to something else.

A How To Guide on Ripping Your Heart Out (so no one else will)

Welcome! Today is going to be a painful and interesting class, so let's dive right in! No pun intended...Well you see its a pun because you'll be plunging your hand into your own sternum in a matter of moments...No? Okaaaaaay!

So everyone stand over a tarp. This is to keep the blood from flowing all over and making a gross congealed mess. Good. Feet shoulder width apart. Deep breath in. Exhale....Good.

Step 1: Feel what is aching inside you.

Feel the itch.

Good. Think about it deeper.

Feel all that is pushing and pulling beneath the surface there

We are going to get at that tonight. Right now.

Feel the pain that emanates out that you can't get rid of

This pain is most often visualized or described as weight.

How much does your pain weigh? Clearly you can't lift it anymore because you're here.

Good. Feel it growing under your skin.

Now take your fingers, hold them together flat.

Some call this a knife hand. I think Karate or something.

Make them nice and strong and stiff.

Place them just to the left of the center of your chest.

Good.

Now scratch the first layer of skin back.

It stings. We know.

More is to come! Get excited people!

But this is hard too.

Dig.

Deeper. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Like a little mouse! Little little!

Nice.

Bring up one flap of that skin

Take it between your fingers and peel back.

Its a thin piece. So be careful not to break it.

And if you don't have a flap yet, take that nail, curve it down and try to slice.

And again, between the tips of your finger, that skin, and PULL!!

Not like a bandaid. Bad idea. Quick is bad here, people! Quick is bad.

Great, this is an open wound. Good Work.

Step 2: Now that you've done that, start burrowing a hole there.

You should feel the blood on your finger like the zest of a tangerine.

It might sting. A lot.

Keep going.

Keep scraping back. Scratch deeper.

There you go. Keep pushing your finger down, like a drill.

Circular, burrowing motions help. The muscle is easy tissue people. Rips like kleenex.

--Oh, we have a few falling behind...Or quitters. They are quitting. That's fine.

HEY DONT MIND THE PEOPLE LEAVING!

Just keep focused. They left because reaching into themselves is too hard.

It's not for everyone. Im proud of you. Keep going.

Step 3: Yes, this is just the third step!

About now you are going to come across something hard.

Like oak. Like an old branch.

This is your rib.

Don't be deceived, it no longer bares leaves.

So break it.

Reach one tiny finger behind it and begin to pull forward.

It will be strong at first, but as you pull harder its rough bark will snap off into small shingles. It will come off like loose pieces of dry wall falling from a hole.

Good.

Now two quick things:

1: Don't stop.

Keep pulling back.

Eventually it will snap

Underneath the frail pieces is the core.

This is stronger. Its fresh. Its the trunk of your bone.

The sap is underneath, so it is sticky and young.

This is the strength you didn't know you had.

This is what got you here. To this point. The strength in your bones.

Break it.

Go ahead.

2: Right now you're in a lot of pain.

Look at yourself--!!

--Or don't if you think you will pass out

But you should be in a lot of pain.

You've got your finger an inch deep in under your skin.

In your chest!!!!

You are leaking blood like a bad, old dam.

Your wrist has a literal stream coming down, staining your shirt.

Its like watching a ruptured juice box.

No! For God's sake don't pull your hand out!

Because if you do, you won't like what comes out.

So it's gonna hurt.

But you are following instructions well.

It hurts because you've punctured your self.

Im proud of you. You're going deeper into yourself than you ever had.

That is hard. Good job.

Step 4: That feeling of not breathing its gonna last a whole lot longer

Its like some one is stepping on your chest.

Smothering your diaphragm until it looks like a wasted, useless balloon.

Its gonna stay this way. Shriveled-like.

So lets keep going.

BY NOW you've definitely got to be about ready to break those suckers! YEAH!

So lets take a deep inhale; dig your fingers an inch deeper,

Wrap them better around those two or three ribs.

Get a good handful here.

Good. Inhale. Now on the exhale YANK as hard as you can.

Out and Upward.

Now upward gives it a better break and keeps it from the lungs.

AAAAAANNNND GO!

…

Okay. Okay. Good.

Now I see you've pulled your hand out and blood is literally pouring on the floor.

Sooo, I want you to quickly stick your hand back in there.

Quickly now.

Good.

And now you're no longer breathing really.

Your throat has closed itself. Because its pissed.

You've just broken your own ribs back. Your body is going to be mad.

We're gonna keep going.

Step 5: It looks like you're bleeding less. Which is good. We need to see this next part.

You're going to lift your sternum now. Yeah, that big bone in the middle.

Lift it like a car hood. Good. Also keep that flap of skin back.

Can you feel the air rushing in around inside you.

Your insides are actually feeling things now! EXCITING!

The air feels cool and crisp. Its swirling around your lungs.

Not in. But around it. Its nice, huh?

Now that, kid, that's breathing!

Step 6: Now reach in.

At this point you should be able to feel a small rhythmic tremor.

Yes.

That is your heart.

That is what your heart beat actually feels like.

Its probably sharper than you thought it would be. More abrupt even.

But it's really strong, isn't it? Yeah. That's it.

See, you're stronger than you thought.

Step 7: Now this next part stings.

You're probably tired of hearing me say that.

But push just a little deeper and find where the pulsing is coming from.

It shouldn't be too far.

Feel it?

Now feel how far the pulse goes.

What I mean is, find the distance the heart expands out after it contracts.

Good. Feel out where that is. Everyone's is different.

But find the width and stay just outside where the wall extends.

You might feel the Aorta bump up against the pads of your fingers.

It's like mini high-fives!

Step 8: Now once you have a feel for that, see if you can find the rhythm.

Find the contractions of your heart. Find its pace.

Now bring your hand, very lightly, very gently closer in around it.

Now pulse your hand with the pulse of your beating heart.

But be very careful, this is the thing that keeps you alive after all.

Feel that? Good.

Now it should feel like you are pumping your own heart.

You're sending blood out, streaming it through your arms and legs and lungs and brain.

Good.

You have your life in your hands now.

Step 9: Now listen closely.

I don't want you to pull it out or change it.

I know that is how the class was described, but listen to me and do as I say.

Don't move it. Don't adjust it. Don't play with it.

You are feeling its natural rhythm.

Just hold it.

Keep your hands clasped around it and feel that little monster move.

Hold it.

Its beautiful.

This is the thing that keeps you alive. What powers you everyday.

Do you feel how beautiful each slight movement is? The machinery of it?

The liveliness to it too though! Its like churning inside.

Do you feel how gorgeous the music it beats out as it drums inside you?

Do you feel the beauty of it? Do you hear it?

This is you. This is yours.

This is the beautiful muscle that is grinding away in the depths of you.

In the darkest places this little gem keeps going. Knowing its own worth beneath all this blood.

You've just now gotten to it.

It's pretty, isn't it?

..

..

..

Thats you.--

Feel it again.

..

..

..

Don't take it out. Don't change it. Don't do anything.

..

..

Just hold it.

..

Feel it move.

Know its rhythm.

Memorize it.

..

..

..

And let it keep going.

Keep It

Keep the faith, Child

All in all keep the faith

You'll see the struggle in your own bare bones

thirsting in the desert of your chest

dry sandy blood

gritting and teething its way through your veins

Child, keep the faith

When you can feel the hot water wanting to cleanse you---

WAIT.

Its not good water, Son.

Its not.

Its empty and keeps you coming back for more

Son, look closer at the water being offered

I dont care how cracked your lips

How dusty your tongue

or the salt stick of your skin

I dont care,

Look closer at the water child.

It will not save you.

That water, she is dangerous

She is offering to quench you

but not take the desert out of you

She is a fucking wavy mirage image, Son.

watch the heat rise off her bare shoulders

and full lips

Boy, those lips are wet, but not full of grace

Child, keep the faith in the desert inside you

It burns and scorches,

chars the walls of your heart

but Child, only you can turn that into something better

Not the water. Not her.

Careful Child.

Keep the faith

The sand between your toes will stay

and the grind of dirt in your teeth may be forever

But its better than thirst her water will inflict.

Keep the Faith, Boy.

Your desert is long and scarring.

Keep the faith as you walk

I dont care how burnt your feet

how red your face.

How dry the throat.

Keep the Faith.

Ill be there for you.

At a distance.

But dont drink the water, Boy.

Dont drink the water.

Where I Was

You never took my breath away

but I took my own to give to you.

Do you know what I did for you?

I did what only God can do

I parted my ribs,

grabbed all skinny skin and muscle off this ragged thing

tore at myself

ripped out lungs

pulled at bone till it cracked with a snap of my fingers

I pulled for you

and I gave you what only God really gives.

Do you know what I did for you over and over again?

Because this body can only handle so much snapping it turns out

I didnt know that.

But my body did.

So do you know what I did for you?

Because my left shoulder aches from carrying you

My fingers have no skin from wiping your leaking tears

My feet barely walk for the miles I chased after you

My lips crack from all the dry kisses we had

My stomach couldn't swallow all the frustration so Im doubled over

All of me shakes to the ground

disassembled on my accord

At most, I gave you my best

At least, my best even if it paraded my worst

I gave you a home

I gave you a heart

I gave you a way away from yourself …

So.

Well.

So, keep it all.

Just keep it.

I've got more some of me somewhere.

What He Meant.

“It's okay. No one knows what the hell they are doing”

This was his way of comforting her. He thought it was a great idea. By equating her position, her existential problem, with the rest of the world she would find company. And in company there is relief or comradeship. Or something that would at least help. Yes, this was a good idea.

“Horse shit! A ton of people know. You do. What bullshit! People know what they are doing”

“Not true”

“Well you fucking damn well seem like you do”

“Okay...Okay”

It was a not a great idea to comfort her this way. Though his philosophical speculation may have been accurate it was poor in counsel.

She was experiencing so much. Doubt dressed her everyday and a cloud, convoluted as it was, left her mismatched and she flapped about. Poor thing. Her situation grew more grave everyday. She buried herself further down, below self speculation. She didn't seem to be coming back.

He tried something else, “It turns out you can't do both, can you?”
“What?” she retorted

“You can't find clarity by adding more stuff. More clouds, I guess. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I guess. Kind of. What do you mean?”

What did he mean? He asked himself. In his head. God knows if he said it aloud there might be hell to pay. What did he mean? He sat, thought the thought one more time--

then he walked out. He left her there, in her deepest need for relief. The fidgeting of her hands was like trying to ring the doubt from her clothes. Maybe she could squeeze hard enough, she could twist the cotton, make it bleed out all the feeling she had. Get rid of it, get rid of it, she thought. She was a mess. And what did he do? He left her. He took all his stuff, all his clouds and left...

Her hands stopped and she stared at the air he was just occupying only a few heartbeats earlier.

What? she thought.

In between the echo of his steps down the hall he thought, That's what I meant, right? I meant that more clouds means more confusion and when I see myself, at least in there, in that room, in that time and space, with that person I am a cloud. That is how I see myself to her. Or in relation to her, rather. So I am a cloud. That is what I meant. Right?

It was too late to question; the hallway no longer held the bouncing sound of his footsteps. He had released them to the city street, filled the sidewalk with his shoe clacking now.

Sure. That is what I mean. Sort of....God, she's beautiful.