by Ryan Adams
You,
You are on that old piece of metal
a heart
on a wire
hanging above the downtown lurch
of a street
blast neon
white light
clatter go the taxis past
feet bruised with suit weight
and rushing
in the screams
i see you
or
i see your name
You
You are on that old piece of metal
spelled out
like that
You,
You stretch out very long
too long even
pale white
littering things on my thoughts
i project across the room
through the windows
onto the hudson
and buildings interrupting
you
with bubblegum things
with hands
to hold my face down
into the fire pit
of night
and
i can feel the light of the moon
in your greasy paws
poster-girl stuff
i think you are a jail
representing what i like
way up there
swung with bulbs
neon blast county fair
white light
broken up upon a star
bubblegummed
and
blazed.
i always knew you could do better
nobody has arms universe size
to reach around us now
that we went
nighttime hush
and
shadow with glitter spots
so
i catch a butterfly in a jar
when i close my eyes
and release it
as i say your name
it’s what my doctor
it’s what he said to do
might i undo your name
from mine
if for an ever
but i riddled with rainbows like visions
of misspellings and you fixing them
but how i spelled them
made you smile
until you were shipwrecked into me
sunken in
to a hack
because you dreamed me a beach
and i always, under sand, understand
buried my head and feet stuck out
where you live now
someone who isn’t me
like this
and i am ok i guess
i always knew you could do better
than me
anyhow
nobody has arms universe size
to reach into the landfill for my sweaters
you threw away with the stripes
of my blanket, i named, for how lonely
I became
somewhere a seagull hovers over a landfill
and shits on a letter with both of our names
next to a rotting carton of eggs
i try to make myself tea
like you would make that tea each day and
like clockwork at night it would be in a pirate corked glass bottle
but i burnt my arm
and myself
in that moment i became so weak i was 33 years old
and just some crazy man alone
in his kitchen crying
but i always knew
i always knew you could do better
than me
i always knew that.
What a “Someone Else’s” Is
Uh oh,
I think I let someone take me when i was an egg
already cracked
and make me into
something hearty
but flat
facedown against the bedsheets
or sometimes
not even that
Uh oh,
I think I let someone take me when you were not looking
when cracked
yourself maybe
either way
we are ALWAYS theirs for the taking
surely,
if one or both of us is not looking
even once
because we made ourselves that way
surely,
my insides went from an ocean to a creek
and no smile is all for real, ever
since
i slept with you midday cheek on cheek
like in the movies
because THAT
“that” just Does Not Happen
not really
it is just a wish or why would they go through so much trouble
did you ever think of that?
a wish upon a wall
and eyes upon the wall for having heard of such a thing
or a twenty
with sodas and candy
and silenced cell phones
that is
all but yours
so
so many tears
i am always ruined now no matter
how loud i make my colors
or how hungry
those mouths may be
–it all comes out
eventually
wash or not
and trust me
they see
i am a plate of food left half eaten and belonged
if only ever once to a taker who paid and did their thing
did what they chose and paid
and that,
that is no love
but exactly what and how it is today
and everybody knows
what a “someone else’s” is, my love
and I,
my dear,
I am not exactly that
uh oh.
like a werewolf
if i were a vampire
i would drink my own blood so that i would die backwards
or something
do something with black magic
to make eternal life go musical chairs
for a second
and i would have never been here
for you to destroy
with bad checks
written out on good will as payment
of some kind
for love–
bound in the binds
not me
not at this age
not at this time
when i am softer
and
hardly fought
to grow more into something new
when i have barely rested for the dying
to get older
as it is
new and whole or not
like a werewolf
i roam these nights built to destroy
fuzz-faced hairball vampires
or else i will expire
because,
besides that i have to be sober
i have been wishing for a new box of dreams
to project upon the walls of my house
the house of my heart
and soul
but only so you might see it and your eyes
would go back to blue,
vampire,
and the audience would sigh
for i had done a good thing
even i
a creature of the night
you and i
then hugging and kissing under the moon
as the credits rolled by
the projector playing that fill the red balloon
and everyone starts laughing
as they are crying
which is sad
because i will probably eat alone again today
and talk to myself in mumbles like who cares if i am crazy
it might keep others from finding their way in
i do not save the day
or get the girl
like a werewolf.
; New Pieces
i am with Y O U dreamer
your red halo in the pillowpile
cottonskin
and all slow slow s l o w
b r e a t h
i am with you.
past tense,
of course.
in the shadow of a green couch
in the back room where we sat
laughing laughing eating
operating machinery
no thought
the glass floor somewhere shines round your legs firework bulbs
voices drown out
the bow breaks
the time comes
the time passes
we are alone, or
now, now we are
by ourselves, us
us,
what was that?
my god.
still i am with Y O U dreamer
perhaps i am the deer caught on the gate
fast fast fast horns antlers shake
woodcrack broken gate
burning passed me like ancient kharma
or fate
or dinner hungry miners the bell goes D I N G
and out come the dirty faces
we were here
once
in the arms of the orange-fall-white-lights
and under glass
so with you, dreamer
i am,
that i sleep with my head in that direction still
of the bed
though it will not speak back
or breathe for you
it is a broken mold
cast once
for something new
that just got up and went
just like that
and then
then came spewing us, at least to me
came spewing the confetti of us
only missing
half of this
us
in new pieces
Burn Up
Here’s the wind-up, kids … no really
i have this amazing funeral idea
hop a spot on a Soviet satellite rocket
after i am dead,
of course
my body in a heat-guarded, air-tight
sarcophagus
made of metal
the mold
my body hands crossed Ra style
with headphones on
mirror shades
striped shirt
paratrooper boots
and hair a fuckin mess
all this
with a flashing red light
that sends my signal and progress
to anyone of interest
as it is let go
in outer space
headed round the moon for speed
and a swift delivery
into the heart of the sun
the return to the light
and
kingdom
if i pulled this off i would still be laughing
now
as time shifts backwards from now
to forward
so,
let’s just say i am granted access
i will turn it off, the sun, i will
so you will know
how it felt
to love you
and be thrown away like a dirty rag
vultures
why can’t they just glow in the dark
so us boys, we might
might watch out
they eat your eyes first
then the heart
it has the most meat
and
they’re schooled and mannered those girls
and rarely go for seconds
so arms out
either way
and douse
here is the wind-up, kids, ready or not
it is time
time to
burn up.
Chapter Eleven
What what what is that ringing in my ear?
they are tearing down another theater
your unfinished works will never see the stage
see the stage
boom
bye bye stage
worst of all I am only thinking of you
writing like a courthouse typist
taking dictation
what do you call them?
and
the world is about to change
can you see that fire under there?
it burns too bright like it had lungs
and too much air
surrounding it up there
this thing with eyes
shrouded in walls
and alibis
I am powerless against you
and your lies and left to die
alone
with my thoughts
which only go “why”
an infinity number of times
and
the world is about to change
it’s about to get dark
forever clouded
black and still
crushed and whip-poor-will dust
I can’t wait
I can’t wait
to file into line
and disappear
into that foggy gate
we will not meet again
I’m afraid the work is done
mine and yours
oh look, there’s a party
that’s nice, dear
run along
your father paid the bill
and
guess with what
guess
what’s that thing you cannot touch?
touch it anyways
a truth to move your hand
born slouched
draped like a drunken game horse
bottled up
half hanging off a cubicle desk
into this word
with meaning
so tough, someone get a violin
and play something
slow
and dim
but don’t even dream of a drum
that will
of hers
what is that, pride?
crossed legs
your fingers type
words to him
whoever undoes them then
I will not be there
of course
again
and he doesn’t even know his soul is dying
the light just hit him
how fast won’t matter
once you like him
enough to give him a piece of rope
and trust me,
he’ll start tying
fast as he can
so strange
how I ever saw such a love in someone like you
and
the world is about to change
and
go bankrupt
let it go
chapter eleven now
because then
then
we’ll see who is rich
and
who is fucked
for good.
Butterbrains
butterbrains,
gosh,
that is what I am
half man
half beast
I don’t listen well
constantly
in search
of more
belief
maybe even tipped like a loaded scale
if the other side were peace
that is mine
my grief
mein grief
I unplugged from the t.v.
started listening
no cars this morning
valentine’s day
people
or maybe just one person
slides the noose
firmly
around their neck
and pushes the chair
we lose some
to their hearts
and lack of care
/>
no referee
to intervene
so sad
and serene
but I feel like there are bubbles
you know
enough to fit my bath
at least for me
mid-prayer
to any angel or God
no matter
how great
or distant
that I care
and I wonder if God needs love too
I wonder should I pray for God
that God tolerates us
as small as we may be
but to him
butterbrains,
that is what I am
totally
and finally buying the light
with my faith
not my words
stupid like a river
with three trees
on either end
rocks and streams
branching off into the dim light
of morning
this reads like a trajectory
not a warning
I just am
I just am
you know
beside myself again
not looking
being my own best friend
hairy and praying in a bath
for anyone
butterbrains
me
butterbrains
fuck it all
how wet
you know
she was
for someone allergic to being loved
adored
how much fruit fell from my tree
was astounding
and to think now
how it does not feel empty
you know
my body or heart
from the loss of the feeling of fucking through the love
and the hurt
is strange
I torture myself sometimes
thinking of that silk-shirted thick beer-tongued brat
with a car, a family lineage, and an expensive hat
and what she looks like
when he pulls his dick out
and she lays back
her eyes too blue
to focus on it
you have to be a big kid, they said, to ride the black wave
because it does not respond to love kindly
and would much rather be a slave
and ridden and beaten like a horse
in full jockey
halfway to finish line
and punished
but all this with no wet kisses and no real violence
implied
like when you want the check at a restaurant
and make the “I’m writing something” sign
for a kick
and a stutter
of lost things
gone sailing in the brutal winds of change
and growing old
and wearing out
and rusting
alone
living in hope
like a stubborn kid
allergic to the knowing
love has come and left
