it's been a while
since i have seen you
but thoughts of you
have lingered
on the edges of my brain
i think of you
in glimpses
and stolen moments
memories
of a not so distant youth
i can almost feel
your rough hands
or hear that deep laugh
the one that made
you tilt back in your chair
i see you like that still
my phone rang
and brought you
into conversation
dead
bobby's dead
but maybe not for me
for me
i replay those moments
rewinding
and replaying
over and over
the moments
when you were so real
so alive
that it makes it impossible
for you to be dead
someone so vital
so loud and free
couldn't die
it just couldn't happen
it couldn't
so i will replay those moments
in my mind
perhaps
that will be enough

i see myself through
distant eyes
a distorted image
at best
staring into a mirror
like scrying
seeing all the faces i have held
not recognizing any of them
wondering
desperately
which one is real

emotions lie
beneath the surface
of our skin
poking and prodding
as best they can
looking for an escape
sometimes a tear
sometimes a scream
sometimes a sigh
emotions are like that
emotions lie

its lifting
the fog
that settles on my shoulders
that presses against my hair
that hangs heavy as curtains
in my lungs when i remember
to breathe in and out
its still there
around the edges
but its lifting
it crept in one night
and never really left
a slow sad blanket
that wrapped me up
musty and dark
that smoke in a bar
it surrounded me
a cocoon of sorts
breaking me
inch by inch
until i started turning into
someone i didnt know
how horrifying a thing
to happen
to look in a mirror
and barely recognize
the soul beneath the skin
but its lifting
and one night
i made a decision
to start over
a clean break
and it thinned
breaths coming a little quicker
a littler longer
and deeper
and it thinned a little more
i regained some visibility
and now
its lifting
almost lifted
but lifting still
and i cant help but smile
the soul is rebounding
souls are resilient like that

tumbling down the rabbit hole
you have to wonder
if Alice had hit her head
or broken a limb
how the story would have turned out
if she got banged the fuck up
as she tumbled
a trauma victim
like those kids
who fall into wells
if she had massive organ failure
due to blunt force trauma
then the whole thing would be a horror
instead of a psychadelic fairy tale
unless, of course,
nobody liked Alice
if Alice was a real bitch
we wouldnt mind a broken arm
or a malfunctioning kidney
that's the thing though
with whatever rabbit hole
you might currently be occupying
it's just a matter of perspective
we are all the bitch
to someone.

i saw a stream
after it rained
that reminded me of her
there were pebbles
nestled on piles of sand
water trickled by
and then rushed by
taking pebbles
and sand
along the way
but this one pebble
never moved
it stayed there
it just kept its hold
on that little pile of sand
and that was the way of it
most people
would see it as strength
a profound sense of purpose
maybe it isn't strong
maybe it's just stuck

its a cruel world
when you think about
it's like watching a race
in slow motion
where the dialogue
is stretched over time
and the image is clear
but looks like the runners
must be running through gelatin
or something
it's disorienting
so you lean back in the recliner
and stare
at the ceiling fan
trying to decide if it is
spinning clockwise
or counterclockwise
and its a cruel world
so you choose not to think about it