Distance, Part Four: From A Distance, To Say --

In another life
we could've been rockstars.
But this is not that life.
Far from, in fact --
I'm just a poor banker's son.
I've got the keys to the car,
but I don't know where I'm going.

Labored breathing
keeps me bound to the bedroom.
And I don't eat
as much as I did
when I was young and hungry.
I'm pulling back the shades,
but never sleep when I'm angry.

Counting blue jays
from the trunk of my car.
But I keep spacing out
and losing track.
I force myself to start again.
Forgetting every conversation
that I have ever had.

Wanted to be a doctor,
so I could hang frames on the wall.
But I left in the rust,
withdrew my name
from office registries.
I broke through every cabinet.
Can I borrow twenty dollars?

I was offshore
for a while but I landed back here.
With a harpoon grabbed from
the hallway closet.
A handmade truth said: The Spine Is Mine.
I found some willing men
and hunted down a white whale.

We heard crickets
and both felt foolish for a while.
On a fire escape
with a bottle of rum,
we wished that we could talk of that town.
I'm an ideas man.
You're the pretty language and meaning.

Flashing lights
replacing smoke and city heat.
We lost our keys,
we searched our pockets deep.
And left the house with an axe to grind.
Not believing for a while.
But I want us believing the same thing.

Holding tongues
is not that hard to do.
Wrote my dissertation
on the art of
knowing when to.
Sometimes a boy is better.
Better seen than heard.

Distance, Part Three: Into the Woods

(see: "Bargaining".)

(see also: Into the Woods - 3 January 2011)

Distance, Part Two: Chirping (On Camera)

They moved their cars into the street, so they could practice in the driveway. Making sacrifices as a group project. We prayed for snow and slipped away. Back at your house you said that we couldn't sleep in the same bed...but we could share the same room and air. I've settled for less before, I said. So I fell asleep at eight that night, so I could wake back up at ten. To say I got a good night's sleep. To say I shut the engines down.

And I was dreaming of falling down a lightly dusted snow-covered staircase. When I stood again, I saw the messy/violent/imprinted angel and she was crying.

I stayed on the floor until I heard birds, then I climbed into your bed. We pretended we had stayed that way all night. We pretended nobody knew. Now shake the ashes from the tray, and wrangle all the bottles up. But when the hardwoods prove too cold for you, you can always hop back into bed. And I said: If for some reason you change your mind, it's okay. We can reschedule to a day that suits you better. When you're feeling at your best.

But we won't tell him, 'cos that would cause trouble with a capital T. So keep this secret like you keep our baby safe. Close to the vest.

Now, I don't scare easily but I startle like a leaf. So please, don't tease me when I'm filling up the sink. And what's it matter when there's matters here of trysts and conviction? I'm a scholar married to a corporate lawyer in Sherman Oaks, California. And when it rains and it thunders? We meet as one, under covers. So take your phone off the receiver and put it back when you leave here.

Distance, Part One: Coquette

I watch your feathers float
from the spare bedroom
and spill out into the hall.
I want to set you on the mantle.
Can I push the ringlets on your
cheek behind your ear,
if that's alright?
It's my favorite place to live.

I hear your silver voice
leaking from your mouth
and carving through the walls.
Must I lock it with the jewelry?
You've got the tidiest and the
jauntiest little figure
I've ever seen.
You control the games of forfeit.

You dream of a thrill not known.
Of a passion that you
can't imagine.
And a life that plays upon a stage.
And you think the worst of me
'cos I sneak around
trying to steal your oranges.
A man, he needs his vitamins.

You might find me boring but
I don't care. I don't care.
I don't care. I don't care.

Distance: An Introduction

The Stages of Distance

1. The distance is denied: "No Distance lives here, you must have the wrong number."

2. The distance is realized: "Huh...I wonder what that look meant."

3. The distance is bargained with: "How about one hour? Twenty minutes?"

4. The distance is accepted: "The time has come for drinking and crying and singing 'I Started A Joke' at karaoke."

You may be asking yourself, Gentle Reader, what is distance? And how do I know if I have it or not? To answer the second question first, shut up. To answer the first question very indirectly, read on. Below are examples of statements/problems/occurrences that have passed across my desk, illustrating situations where distance is questioned. I have also provided answers. Confused yet? I hope so.

I have lost my child (in WalMart):
No.
I have lost my child (to The Suicide Life):
Yes.
That ketchup is near that salt shaker:
Really?
I can hear your heart:
Almost.
I can feel your heart:
Too much.
I am your heart:
Right on the nose.
I drove past your house today:
More information, please.
I drove past your house today and I was playing that mix you made for me. And when I neared your mailbox I had the vision of me rolling out of the car and letting it crash into the side of your house underneath the window where your parents sleep. I didn't, of course. But at the same time, I had another vision that you were getting the mail and saw me, so I stopped to say hello. And I told you I was in the neighborhood (which you didn't believe but accepted anyway,) and we decided to go for a drink...somewhere close because you had to be in work by eight the next morning. A drink turned into two, two into several. The early evening turned into night and a friendly drink turned into hands and lips and The Coasters' "Down In Mexico" and moist foreheads and everything was flashbulbs and grainy film footage. We locked, visited old haunts and places we used to love. You cried after, before you went to sleep, and told me that you weren't sad. You didn't know what you were. The next morning, you kissed me long on the mouth and dressed slowly, and told me that you were glad we could use each other. That was the end of the vision as I drove past your house:
You get it. You get it completely, you sad son of a bitch. Now come here if you're in need of comfort, of warmth, of making the space seem smaller for a moment.