wright-words

[wright-words]

I've continued posting words on Threads:

[wright-words]

this blog is 10 years old

this is not a poem poems have rhymes and fit nice poems match lines and sound right

this isn’t a poem i said 10 years of poems in my head 6 beers/existential dread

200 poems i was willing to share hundreds more i didn’t care for

i had something to say, sometimes, some days

to process a feeling or express what i was fearing

what little i had to draw from i drew

thank you

[wright-words]

🌁

love and strangeness through you , the muse must sing

so i recognize; make known again

memory is just grounding foundation not to be re-created like recreation

the past is dead and gruesome and you can't stop staring

my nose smells weird my view is skewed this thing I'm familiar but not friendly with Hello. How've you been. Good.

and I know, I've always known,

that my body is a well, drawn from but otherwise strange.

[wright-words]

🐍

Diamond differential Snake eyes’ll be wine drunk Weathered contender Fake lines turn blind luck

Tastes like carbon monoxide Air fills til lungs tongue-tied

Moon lit serpent Sure thing/no surface

dreams wake frames take waves break …

[wright-words]

🍓 beaming blissful love the stars and the wind wonder if

you can be real

how can I not be a little happy all the time/ knowing I can reach & beseech upon

& I can endure, if not for me, maybe

Tend next to prayer, caught breathing like a wish

[If ethos; Be pathos; So logos]

[wright-words]

🦷 Long live—

Warm truth Sweet relief Real calm Beautiful knowing

Rooftop bar setting pulling on my brain stem > In an elevator with a toddler calling it “alligator” (and nobody smiled but me)

Girls in body suits dreaming of forever college didn't you know? Small joys make this life

Bee on the sleeve, be calm, be relieved Life in a whim (All this is whim)

[wright-words]

⚠️ powerful patience distress to rest (riddled)

being / being here / being here now

free reeling traced, peeling, feeling potent years unbelieving filling up or emptying the hours life as half full or half empty; why’s it gotta be a glass? Is life just glassware

Is living a vessel

Are we vessels?

[wright-words]

IT STUNG

Sentinel Horseshoe fly I'd rather trust you than love you but one is easier to arrive at

I'm done concerning myself w/ prophecies Psychic powers do not inhabit me my power's not like that I was right. I told myself so. I did it anyway. All of it. & I would've kept going

That thing did sting. Damn that shit hurt. But what's the alternative? I could've said no to any of it, but

[wright-words]

I became an escape artist

Devoid of meaning but ripe w truth

I only cried x the number of time zones from the starting line I watched every sun rise and took setting as a sign And I was strange to myself

Time heals all things especially if it hurts: dead skin scraped, hairs pulled, cornea sliced, tooth extracted, shoulder separated, nerves pinched, cells killed. scabs. scars. Hair cut, grown, cut, grown, cut, grown, cut grown cut grown cutgrown cutgrown grown out. tears welled/streamed. tiny veins. jawbone trauma, heavy pliers. steel lodged. “No bikes on the bus.” (Can’t believe I have to say this) Spinal disks bulge

Open stasis_inability to thrive despite those who sell Thriving as a concept, or to behold

don’t let me learn you, doll face Because I will, and we’ll change

Even when we expect it, even when we apologize for it, even when we accommodate it, even when we bar ourselves from it, even when—

Change is the great pressurizer. Change is the tide we beg to return to sea. 

But it won’t, it will barrel on endlessly, it knows eternity like we never will (we never will)

Simplified infinity the fountain of youth is cursed

Personally? I forget what I was trying to say Something about how I’mdone with this thing, this thing of being a strong healthy adult in the face of secondhand embarrassment and mixed emotions. I can’t write meaningful words on a 100 degree Red Line train in July.

[wright-words]

dereliction remorse

Familiarity if we're all one Dissociation if we're hollow bodies standing side-by-side like the hive (if only we agreed on our purpose)

Graphology wavelength Expired signage Dread retention

Your person is synaesthetic Supine in repose

Stand until standing shakes; ever guarding the garden.

Energies beaming Ellipsoidal being

Resistance until gravity takes me

Oceans never part Stars do not hang

We are soft tissue We are bodies of water

[wright-words]

You, viewed, is light to prism

residual feels romanticism

the art of you coincides cleanly

[wright-words]

Gone is detritus god is deterred the knees of our jeans Two individuals made whole by majesties

[wright-words]

you have an eyelash

Filth tilts towards blistered acres Make blank some sad sanctimony Stalled as patience, wait for the call Rose red extremities / In-bed tendency

Hands cracked black Not a moment too soon Righteous, sharp like an insult Flower in the hair and the back of the mind

Symbolic prowess, “the gatekeeper” Finger skin cuts like consistency Two thousand miles each way Relieved of the desire to be

[wright-words]

Mourn for the Before Times

before i shut myself in a room and crossed that line before i tried being "somebody" to young somebodies     and every day it wiped me the fuck out before i condemned myself from anybody and everybody before i fell into my fears, starved myself of connections on purpose before i doubted everything i had to say, before i said everything     to you and thought somehow that would be okay. i wanted to care about something because I didn't.

i started calling it depression, and it definitely was but, that didn't mean I had a clue how to stop it. I couldn't stop it. and I do forgive myself, because hindsight is clear as fuck and maybe you forgive me too, because you aren't responsible for me               now

I made the mistake of looking at old photos of us, from Before and I miss that, that thing, the net we fell into, the parachute of it all and we were young. younger made me scoff and shake my head like "damn" what happened? I don't know. but I know those times need to be put down like an old dog who can't stand up, shouldn't suffer any longer rest

[wright-words]

houston is dead

Houston’s got it all wrong short substantial sights amid ruptured roads uplifted

Where’s a human in flight meant to flee? given the nature of things I’d be better off slinging rocks or tailing the trails off Blue Hills Flying down Centre to the SW Corridor

But that’s all dead. Houston is too Where’s a flea meant to be?  Maybe wherever the flies go Or the termites, or the worms

Tucked away in that cool dark place Far away from Armistice or Woodbine or Creighton All the dead wood & leaves pushed under the dead doors with their dead keys

[wright-words]

if

[pt.2]

what's the death of a partnership look like i'm done reciting the story. but then, what story? who's it belong to? and the worms I left in the basement will escape into the dark choked by the open air / stuck down as wavy lines on concrete my bike will grow rust, crumble and disintegrate snow will coat the narrow steps. I won't be there but the old oven will still dripping brown-green grease, untouchable I'll dream in artwork, canvas faces of people my eyes have viewed and the flashbacks come in, just like the movies. I'll see my old boss step back, "okay?" and yeah, yeah it's okay. my brain is a landfill. it's heaping trash barely breaking down, at best combusting in spontaneity (I hear the ladies love that kinda shit)

"you can't have it all"

[wright-words]

if

[p.1]

Ode to what might've been [Hahhaa fuck that! who am I kidding?] Symposium on the hind-seen in memorium, Et mortem, ac obitus, ac inferus, que moriuntur As if we'd be walking along the dying daisies hand in hand and one holding the dog you'd look at me longingly like you didn't already have me our laughter would ring out in our small space and never end in misunderstanding or painful silence our friends would see us as pillars of pride & joy 'the way it’s meant to be' or some shit, just like that you could call me just to transfer your voice to my ear and in return take the words I’d deliver to yours and talks over coffee would be filled with mutual presence and all the love poems I wrote you back then could be real life we'd give each other’s bodies a careful intentional welcome like everything about us’d be just right, deserving it all maybe there'd be room. maybe despite that deep fear, we'd come up for air and say 'fuck it, let's go for it,” and do that thing we talked about. maybe time could take us back to Record Store Day those years ago, and we could spend all our money on tapas

but