by Ryan Adams
go
get it from thugs
and
beat some asses
but
we don’t talk anymore
and
I will never hear you laugh again
because
we left
and
it’s over
and
one of us had trouble letting go
so
no bike
and
just me
and
lots and lots and lots and lots
of
questions
and
too much night
infinity blues
nobody is going to be able to save me
and i AM going to die
but not old
and not slow
but suddenly
in a flash
i mean, a truck may go past
maybe i slip because i am tired
maybe i know to slip
but i can’t watch beautiful women go by me anymore
and grow old
and lose my grip
and know my words are lessened by the days
the dark days of the artless
i am a fucking fool
you know
for thinking this is poetry
or that anyone would care at all
i don’t address you
when you read
because it was only one girl i wanted to need
who i wanted to write to
or for
only one set of legs
for me to set the seed
i am a dirty old fuck on the inside
but not
i am all kinds of trinkets and Southern things
forget
spoiled by loneliness
and made of forgot
i am rot
and i AM going to die
and it won’t matter because you all will be dead soon enough too
time does this
and i’d rather slip
into the tarmac
into the ocean
unnoticed
like i was
like it were
than feel this kind of pain and know i am only turning green
from new growth
i could never stand
i am not fit to be an older man
not now
nor ever again
i am broken like the lamp on the nightstand
i am the ghost on
the foot of the bed
i am
a pair
of her shoes
and obsessed
like i am supposed to be
and filled up full gut
with infinity blues
In the Middle of the Night Goes the Bang
in these slow moments, when there is too much time, i feel the entire inside
world of me collapse into its pile
the words drift from me
and i am but a calm swarm
an endless end
my skin touches the edge of the desk and i know i am alive
sort of hanging
and i feel a soft heart
my own
go into the gears, go shredding
for lack of tears
and more words
for the things i could not express
and time
which will not wind itself back
where the folds of what was me and what were wishes
came undone
like a slow dress in a brutal wind
like when a flock separates
and takes no shape again
was that my soul
my heart wrapped in tin
with a wire
on ice
and a bulb too thin
or a dream too long
or a breath too kissed
words they do fine
but cannot touch
this thing i miss
a heart
inside me
when
in the middle of the night goes the bang
Lighthouse
when a woman leaves
she leaves
and leaves
with scents
and all the smells
of the house
when a house is calm
go
with
her
she takes with her the essence
of a place
painting the insides invisibly
while you were not looking
or shall i say, i
when a woman leaves
her smells
are small
hells
each much nastier than a sting
burned into your bed
in a fiery ring
and with her went the candles too
white ones, delightful ones
lit from time to time
shining
when she left she took the pictures
too
no diety confusion
or something
either way my retinas are masked with shadows of lines of the burn mark of her
face inside
tonight i missed
that scent
that smell
which is why i sleep with her sweater
it is still there
fading in the rest of a wooden ship
with a white flag
and battered sail
The Rushes
The house shook with horrible thunder
so we went inside
where the noise was
coming from
The spaces in
between the words
became a line
so we went under
the house
then over the spaces
with words
The words were not
enough
to keep her in my
dream
i am almost about
to speak
and
i awake
the house shakes
like
my hands shake
not
someone else’s
but
by themselves
The house and i
shake and
everything else
is moving
not me or us
it is a none-of-mybusiness
earthquake
this day
and
you know,
i have seen these
colors once but they
blurred by the
rushes of
disappearing
i’m a sick man, buttercup
a sick man sits curbside, morningtime
papers just being lifted from
oversized doors
leading into the catacombs of homes
and thinks,
“when i am old, or not, and pass
i hope i become
a cloaked witch in the woods
behind your regal house
and my eyes are hollow
and eaten out by birds
and your children will see
my shadow
in the hall
and in the woods
i will haunt them
and they
will know the name of the abandoned”
then launches back upon the bench
and thinks of a laugh
and skin
softer than a cotton patch
in a cloth basket
and breasts like imaginary tears painted blue on a canvas 9 feet tall
and calm
and as the wind kicks up
a bag
and throws it round
the square he thinks,
“but i will be tired by then
and my soul
so tired now
is like the kind of cry
t
hat becomes so inaudible
it is not a mumble
but like the constant
clicking of a greyhound
throwing a rod
quietly, trying to cut off
its gasoline supply
and i have become
the actions
of a man
ready to light himself
with something stronger than fire
to erase even
these last moments of
total
fucking
regret
and
despair”
and then has eggs
takes medication
for posttraumatic
events
and
collapses
on a bed
of fine silk
where
he never belonged
because
i
will
never
fucking
belong
to
anyone
again
despite my mumbling senile heart
rocked into its useless place
by
every
unknown
betrayal
and
line
that could have taken lovers anywhere
but
left one
to
question
why a man is even born
with pure
desire
and
hope
hope is as dead as the pigeon
floating
in the water
below the statue
in the tank
those new showers
will
wash his wings
into the gutter
where
i
am,
buttercup
I Fucking Miss You
To not be with you.
my God
my world just ends
goes calm
before me in a darkness
like a night
is a darkness
i strike
inside me
that moment
and
all i see
our hands
together
enclosed
around a light
it was simple gestures
not fuss
that kept me in the deep
protected by us
if I could
I would build those walls
back up
but they went Jericho
from backwards wishing
rung as clouded bells
for the missing
of your touch
upon my life
as i sit here so far from a home
written in your chest
i am sorry
for every moment now
i wasted
taking breaths
thinking
i might have that chance
to hear that soft laughter
forever
a jewel into the oceans
a bread crumb trail
ends
and i don’t know
i am so sorry
so sorry
i fucking miss you.
Hammer It Home, Slugger
Last night
i had that stupid dream
again
where i am in jail
so horrible
i should wake up relieved
but i am not
me
depressed in a puddle of pillows
and lint
a newspaper
unfit to print
or a dull sauce
dream-lost
and
it wouldn’t be so bad
if i didn’t know inside the place
that it would never be loneliness
that waited for me
to break my face
but me alone
separated in a cosmos
where i couldn’t stroke her neck
of hair
outside somewhere
she is cornered, scared
with me locked tight
with me not there
but it is just selfish
of me
you know
that i would care
to defend
a woman against her own dreams
from my head
to my knees
you shouldn’t have,
really,
lying like you should
in a loved bed
why don’t you
you know,
hammer it home, slugger
and call it
before
it’s too late
and
neither of us will win.
That Door Is Closed
fixed red sign; too bright;
blasting neon
red brick cloaked
in darkness
and
noise
two bodies pass the gated store
this is a nighttime fantasy
you say
“you say” that
THAT
to yourself
with panic, a body fidget
and
it’s like
somebody was not there
and
closed the doors
Dear me,
That Door Is Closed
That Door Is Closed
but
like a new thing in a new cage
i find the wall
with my face
and
etch the wall
for the future remembered dark fixture fingering
but
this is not that house
nor a home
i knew
past present or drawn by hand
in blue and white
this
is
a
fantasy
now
but worse maybe
but worse maybe
but worse maybe
but worse maybe
see what i am doing
i am writing it out
i am writing it out
i am writing it out
i am
i will
i was
i know
THAT DOOR IS CLOSED
THAT DOOR IS CLOSED . .
but, but////// … … .
but … … …
but fuck.
fuck.
fuck fuck fuck fuck
fuck
that is what.
Cocooned
i break the seal on the sea
i enter the water
all done by noon
in a bath
or by shower
and off off off i go
into my milky broadway
into my world
i count the rings on the tile
i clean awhile
it’s never too soon
in a minute
goes the hour
and off off off i go
into my wordless tower
into my static
rainbows with new colors
seeds with seedpodflowers
motionless whirligigs
and godknowswhat
really
banging around in the cracks
i do not say her name
it would break my back
and splinter my shield
and i am just made of small dreams
and tough talk
and fight
and a weakness for privilege and might
we lost it
i lost it
so
i break the seal on the sea
i enter the water
but i do not leave
every wave in the
ocean now stays
wrapped in her name
cocooned
Where?
where
where could i go?
like this.
swollen from head to toe.
salty as a tear
inside a sea
bothered like a sail
on a worn beach
workmen’s prints
up each side
scattered
for the love of god.
where
where could i go?
if i were a dream
i would meet us
like a mitten
gray cloud
over us snowing
in our hair
in the city
your hand in mine
my fingers
on yours
locked
i loved you so much inside me
i swallowed it up
me in a cup
my skin
stars
in the air outside and between
in a single word
in a thought
of you
where
where could i go
now?
My Favorite… Ever
you were my favorite
and i pushed you away
so foolish
so so so
foolish
and then wrecked myself against the rocks
like a doll
to the floor
with myself
then you
and it broke
b r o k e
you
with reason
and beauty
and grace
loving me
so reckless
we were
reckless
i was
and now
this moment
this body
feels trapped
in sickness
in grief
like
i slipped out of time
into a thing
a place
that should not be
and
i cannot break the spell
of this moment
ever
I Make Myself Sick
I make myself sick
Really
Fawning over a lampside table turning blue and red
and blond, all of a sudden
sitting in the middle of the room
surrounded by particle accelerators
and trash
Like I could drink the whole of the ocean
and browse through the fish
that lie at the bottom of what was the ocean
to find one perfect for my dish
I make myself sick
Really I do
I’d rather ring you up and leave you be
to be alone
than meet you there
and have to disclose what it is I do not have
sick
generator noises armpit stinks
dry heat and basement sweat
and blue eyes
this is the lot of the crime
I’m parking cars here all the time
dreamless ass-face
discovering nothing
