Nameless

When I met you I said,
”that’s a name I could forget,”
and I’ve never had my bluff
called so hard.

I Was Burning

I was burning for something that felt
like flying, so I settled for fake and
we went indoor skydiving.

I was driving with my eyes closed,
the way I play poker, praying
for lucky turns.

I was empty except dreams,
where I wrote endlessly for the
soon-to-be-dead-to-me and the
already-dead-to-me.

I was always putting words
in your mouth one way
or another.

I was so afraid of being
misunderstood, I used an
analogy for everything.

I was the prick
in your broken heart
measuring contest.

I’m not any of that now.

To the beach

I’d take you to the beach
     (let me make it 
     crystal clear),           
but I’m afraid you’d fuck up
     how I like 
     to disappear.

I want to be transparent,
dissolve in
salt in sea,
and not embody
your physical
perception of me.

So if I seem
a little slow
with your invitation,
it’s just me trying
to forget this
entire incarnation.

Vehicle

Sometimes your job is just a vehicle
for your body to survive

and

sometimes your body is just a vehicle
for your consciousness

and

always your consciousness
is a gift, and a tool,
and a resource
you owe to
no one.

Innumerable

One hint of abandonment
and the same six traumas,
one mean joke
and the same six traumas,
one call with family
and the same six traumas,
one day without nutrition
and the same six traumas,
one drink too many
and the same six traumas,
one bad dream
and the same six traumas,
one hand in the wrong place
and the same six traumas.

When I’m ready to vomit
at the persistence of those
same six traumas,
I remember I can count them
on my fingers and six of anything
can be disarmed, made harmless
in the light of my
innumerable joys—

the smooth flight
of a new bike chain,
the fluid cursive
of a lover’s letter,
the third coffee
of a wide open day,

the light steps taken
in new running shoes,
the heavy canvas bags
after the farmers’ market,
the secondhand watch
that keeps perfect time,

the unexpected warmth
of a late winter afternoon,
the cold floral mist
of an early spring morning,
the new, green leaf
of a yellowing houseplant,

the glass of cold water
when the body is only asking
for cold water,
the full glass of wine
on a morning bedside table
because sleep came easily,
the complete relief
of four continuous minutes
with a quiet mind,

the deep sleep that turns
anxiety into understanding,
the right words that come
when they’re needed,
the makeshift bridge across
a hidden forest creek…

(To be continued
indefinitely.)

Jogging

I run faster
when I’m angry
with lead foot
muscle memory,
so if you’re driving
on the streets
of London tonight,
say a prayer
of gratitude
I sold my car.

40 Hrs

My manager once joked,
”Oh, Andrew can stay late,
no one loves him.”

Lunch

Let’s have toast
while the world ends.

Let’s argue harmlessly whether
this coffee shop is a church,
whether our barista is a pastor.

Let’s have tea in the sun
as a handful of corporations
spring from their garages
to possess us a little more.

Let’s dance in the discomfort
that our data is worth more
than our names.

Let’s listen to men with podcasts
tell us life is about success
and success is living
more like them.

Let’s spend twenty years
learning the difference
between love and attention
and then forget
right when it matters.

Let’s discuss the pros
and cons of being martyred
while we’re immolated
in our hometowns.

Let’s try to forget
it’s our extended family
governing those hometowns.

Let’s paint ourselves
orange to match the sky
as we disentegrate
and wait for a cure.

Let’s medicate with coffee
and pretend the anxiety
was inevitable.

Let’s whisper exit plans
and share the fantasy
that running might help.

Let’s debate whether our
fingernails will regrow
before we die.

Let’s perform every ritual
we can invent to consecrate
the afternoon.

But first, let me
take you to lunch.

Andrew, try to remember

Going to grad school won’t save you and learning to code won’t save
you. A retirement fund won’t save you and minimalism won’t save
you. Traveling won’t save you and a comfortable home won’t
save you. Meditating won’t save you and therapy won’t
save you. Curling fetal into a faint warm memory
won’t save you and living in another fantasy
of the future won’t save you.

Drinking won’t save you and
pizza won’t save you. Running a marathon
won’t save you and eating clean won’t save you. Dating
won’t save you and being alone won’t save you. In fact, every change
you can possibly make to the shape and position of your body won’t save you.

Being clever won’t save you and being liked won’t save you.
Solving your flaws one at a time in an attempt to project
manage your own salvation still won’t save you.
Reading the bible won’t save you and
worshiping the dead won’t save you.

Listening to music won’t save you
and making art won’t save you. Even
the happy afternoons on sunny patios when
the world shrinks to a freckle on your
cheek won’t save you because
nothing will save you.

You have to continue,
imperfect and exhausted,
without believing your pain
absolves all pain, without contriving
a reason to martyr yourself.

You have to hold
your broken vessel,
stop admiring the cracks,
and get to work
serving others.