Nothing's Lost

Nothing's lost.

It's just retained

in memory;

sustained in time

by impressions

on the mind.

Nothing's lost

but nothing gained

for this that is now history.

It occurs to me,

despite the pain,

that it will be forgotten -

though love remains.

Forgotten, forgotten

And what the cost?

I still believe

that nothing's lost.

Images -

and so specific -

address my mind,

and in terrific tunnels of feeling,

I find

we are the same.

Yin/Yang is a famous harmony

we cannot be together

but still, we can see:

hearts hold to love dearly

like a fragrance, or a feather

and what, through our disunity

we destroy, or we weather

will be mended,

and retained.

We'll not speak together as ever

before

- perhaps we'll never speak again -

but tell me, darling, what's the cost?

I still believe there's nothing lost.

- Nov. 2, 1987, A.D.

What's Left

I lie, face down on the floor.  The incandescent glow from the shrine merely warms the darkness in the room.  I'm not sure how long I have been here.  I turn to my side and look out the window.  The moon lingers there, in the orange-black sky, laughing.  I am only semi-conscious, now.  I turn again and look down at the floor, where my notebook lies, wide open, spotted with dampness from tears and saliva.  Words, words - incoherent from pain - rest on the blue lines.  I am more conscious, now.  I turn again.

The tape recorder - at my feet.  I rewind the tape, and then press the "play" button:

"Tuesday, September 15th, 1987. . .  I can't come to a single damned conclusion about my life. . ."

I stop the tape and get up.  I stagger toward the bathroom, running my fingers through my hair - unkempt in the usual way.  I stop in front of the mirror, try to understand that that thing in the reflection is me, but it seems so unreal, so sad, so empty.  It doesn't respond to me, staring.  I look down into the sink and I feel - I feel like I'm inside a bubble gum bubble.  The pressure increases and the walls expand, and suddenly, everything around me bursts.  The walls of the bubble collapse onto me.  I am surrounded by the sticky aftermath.  I start to tug and pull everything away from me, but I'm all caught up in it, and pretty soon, I'm flailing about wildly, like an animal in a net, and I'm beginning to suffocate -

I look up.  Her lips are moving.  Her words are vague and incoherent.  That feeling in my stomach and my throat returns, or maybe I've just now noticed it again.  I wish I could have it surgically removed.  She's babbling.  She's mad.  I turn away and leave her.

I walk back over to the shrine - that last, tangible remnant of the world we built together.  We built a cage, you see.  And we had two birds.  When I left him the first time, his bird died.  I removed the stick that had been theirs, together, and I kept it as a memorial.  I lived alone with my bird.  This time when I left him, my bird escaped, out the window.  No one left.  Just an empty cage with a light, just the shell of a home that we once shared.  And then one day, the cage was gone, too - thrown out by the man I believed I had left him for.  When I found out, I cried.  No birds, no home - there was nothing left.  My brother put together a shrine, using the light and some beads.  And as I stand and stare at the light, I think, "Well, at least there is that. . ."

I walk back over to the tape recorder and press the "play" button:

"I have been away from him for one month, now.  It's just like the last time.  The first month is okay, and then I'm ready to go back.  I'm finding it harder and harder to remember why I left him. . ."

I know why I left him, and I don't want to remember.  All I want is the love back.  ["I know it would be suicide to try to go back again, but I can't stand thinking about the alternatives, thinking about all of the never agains and no mores. . ."]

I've got to admit to myself that I used the other guy to keep my mind off of the fact that he had his mind on someone else.  I used the other guy as a safety device, so I wouldn't have to hurt so bad when or if I was cheated on.  I didn't know this until just now.  I thought it was love and passion and a new beginning.  ["I thought that I was doing the best thing by starting over, but it turns out there's really nothing there to work with.  He can't even tell me how he feels.  He loves me too much, and all I can do is hurt him.  It's making me numb.  So numb inside. . ."]

I turn off the tape recorder.  I take a deep breath and try to clear my head.  It's going to be a while before I start moving forward again.  It's all so fucked up, now.  I breathe.  Somewhere inside, I am thankful just for breath.  I find my trench coat and my keys in the corner of the couch, and I leave the apartment.

The night is warm, but breezy.  The moon is descending toward the horizon, and I am numb.

(fall '87)

The Rush

I was standing in the subway,

waiting for the train

in the distance, the white eyes of the snake 

glared at me

"It's coming," I whispered to myself.

But it was not the train that I would catch you on.

As it neared, the volume of its rumbling increased in numbers -

earth-shaking power -

I began to feel the rush.

Then the wind came up

it nearly blew the hat off my head

I sensed the strength

and the unmerciful force

that nearly swept me away.

But this was not the train -

not yet.

I watched, and part of me was pulled along

as this train went on without me

[heartless infatuation,

you give me a feeling, but nothing more. . .]

how disappointing.

And in the past few weeks that I've been waiting, 

I've begun to wonder

why it's always the one that passes

instead of the one that stops

but there is a force that takes me down there

and a certain pleasure to the rush

and I keep thinking it will be the next time -

so I do not mind the wait.

- Oct. 26, 1987

Merciless Ignorance

Merciless ignorance

just as simple as a walk away

as simple as innocence

with a little more moral decay

You amazing creature

once revealing,

now concealing

has it been that bad all along?

how you lie with a simple response

(there's nothing I love more

than getting close enough 

for lies)

lies?  oh no. . .

maybe you just picked up my trick

I warned you -

you persisted -

hurts, doesn't it?

how could I possibly say I don't need this?

you dream sleepily

you'll be here tomorrow

and the next day

and the next

I'll be gone tomorrow

and why console 

a lonely soul?

I'll move on to paradise

congratulations to yet another bad memory

I want to hate you, hate you

did I really do this to you?

what did I make you think?

SAY IT, GODDAMMIT

your silence is a lie

deep in the night

you're mercilessly innocent. . .

ignorant. . .

- April 18, 1987, A.D.

Un'man'ned

"I put in my vote today, citizens!!

I say, 'Yes!' to castration of the man

so worthy of late

of the terrible fate

of our city's new birth control plan!

"At our Mayor's request 

I have come to attest

to the fact that this man is a worm"

("Castrate him!  Castrate him!"

they cry in protest.

The accused starts to shiver and squirm)

"Just look at him, now

with those innocent eyes, ladies -

which of you would be upset

to find him caressing your hips and your thighs?

I was stupid -

I encouraged it!

"And to think that I

thought his animal drive

was particular interest in me!

All I was was a body -

no soul and no mind -

how stupid I was not to see!

"And how exciting the danger

of doing a thing

that would break all the rules in this place

but sex is so tempting

and passion so rare"

("But who was it this week?"

the people declare)

"He loves to be wanted and petted

and loved"

("But who will be next week?"

they push and they shove

and with angry red faces

he is pinned to the wall)

"No, not yet, citizens!

"Tell me, do you recall

that I left with a kiss

and came back to the cold

of an actor -

so frightened -

because I broke the mold?

"From the very first day,

he assumed I had come

to demand of him caring

and loving and some of the very long list

of what he's unequipped 

to provide to so lost

and so wanting a soul

"I did want him more

than his life could afford

and paid dearly for all of my hopes

but even now, in the end -

all I want is a friend -

and I find that he still cannot cope

"It has bent me to anger 

and fury and hate

just to think that this man and his sex

could have made 

such an impact on me

and I've seen him tease others

with a touch like so many

reserve for their lovers.

I will not stand for more

of this worm -

I implore you!

Let us all raise our hands

and we'll have him un'man'ned!!"

And the crowd - what an uproar! -

they carried him over

to the city's best surgeon

and the patient, in horror -

with a sigh and a cough

his ambition, cut off. . .

- March 30, 1987, A.D.

My Natural Disaster

You touched me

and my soul was on fire

fire that burned through promises

through priorities,

through to passion itself

It was a fire of destruction,

breaking me away

from him -

burning a path back to you

And then, you became a wall of stone - 

hands raised against me -

you looked away.

You are the only one

You are the last one

You are the whole of desire

You are the soul of the fire. . .

and I come to you again

you look away

What makes a stone so hard

that was once fire?

You'll burn again, won't you,

when I touch you?

and blaze your path of destruction

back to me?

- Feb. 16, 1987, A.D.

Just A Feather on My Lips

I want to create an image

of Venus and the moon

of a wet night 

under a weeping willow

in the shadows of a park

and under the light of la luna

and the image of a god 

who is human

and a human -

a sad, sorrowful, wet 

me.

When he touched me,

it was all over.

How can I create this image

to be real

when it's a dream,

just a dream to me?

How can I bring him to life

when he is more than life?

the moon's light is in his smile

and there is Venus in his eyes

and his touch is warmth to my entire body

and his kisses are electric

How can I make anyone believe

that he ever happened

when I can't be sure, myself?

I can feel him, still

or is it merely the caress of a warm breeze

against my shoulders?

or a feather on my lips?

It is only a dream

and I am a dreamer to believe

that my memory is worth anything.

Even if I were to paint this picture,

I'm sure 

that the other lover -

the one who is kissed by him -

could never be me

(fall, '86)

Thanks for the Short-Term Memories, or How to Get Back on that Unicorn and Ride

I know you're thinking I'm stuck in the past, but if you knew me now, I don't think you would see that.  In fact, I'm not the kind of person who even remembers the past.  If it weren't for the old boxes of notebooks and journals that I saved (most of which haven't even been opened in 20 years), it would all be lost to the ether.  I can keep friends forever, but I don't hang on to memories.

And thank god for short-term memories.  When you're young, growing into new skin and falling in love every two weeks, it really helps to not remember every humiliation that naturally follows.

But I remember enough to tell you that 1985 was really great.  In '82, '83 and '84, I had been mesmerized by unrequited love like sparklers at a birthday party. 1985 was full-on Fourth of July fireworks.  I'll be honest - it was my best year for romantic adventures and real, requited love.  Finally, what all those poems were for, right?  It was "The Rise and Fall of the Love Empire", as I called it, and I had a lot of muses.  [All right, that sounds bad, but come on!  Do you really want this story to end without love, and, at long last, some randy romps through the garden of earthly delights?  After all I've been through?]

I might say something earnest, now, about how I learned something from each lover along the way.  This is true.  I had a lot to learn.  But the most remarkable thing about '85 for me was that I felt free.  Coming of age felt good.  I was self-confident and eager.  I was graduating, going to college, and the whole world felt like it was opening up to me.  I still went through some sad, teachable moments; but in hindsight, I can't complain.  There's a lot I did that year that I won't recommend to anyone's children.  For example, AIDS was just beginning to come into our consciousness, so throwing caution to the wind didn't seem like such a gamble.  But at some point, I have to admit it was just plain fun.  Exploits that my parents would have called "irresponsible" turned out to be a blast.  24 years later, I'm here to say that there was no harm done.

The adventures that I regret - the ones that hurt me the most - were all related to slavish devotion to men who would never love me the way I felt I should be loved (although, to be honest, the door swung both ways).  There's plenty of that in my future, by the way.  By comparison, the shallow trysts and the roads-going-nowhere, the "friends with benefits" and the well-meaning infatuations (followed by well-meaning changes of heart) were really just fine by me.  It was all great while it lasted, and it kept my spirits up and out of the gutter of depression that I tended to sink into when I was bored.

And through it all, I kept writing, as prolifically as ever.  My book was nearly complete:  "Poetry:  100% Pure Beef (or Vice-Versa)".  Complete, but never sent out into the world.  Typed, bound, and left on my desk, along with a whole host of good intentions.  But I'm not going to get you down just yet.  For now, enjoy 1985 in all its glory.  It was the best of times, I'm sure - even for someone who can't remember.

Heading Towards the Camel Horizon

She contemplates,

accelerates,

and diminishes.

"Hold on!

Where are you going?"

(She smiles

a sad, knowing smile.

She has always loved him.)

"I can't linger.

I must move on. . ."

"Will you ever return?"

(She turns away.  Muddled tears. . .)

/i love him.  if i'm gone long enough to remember,

then i will return.

but there's no holding on

and there's no turning back

and i am leaving now/

(She turns to him)

"Perhaps I'll come again.

But don't wait for me."

"Please. . .          Don't go."

/don't go!  don't go!. . .                                  don't go?/

(She cries to herself.)

/if i stay, i will grow to hate him

if i leave, imagine the good memories!

i am victimized by expectations

NEW LOVERS SHOULD STAY APART AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE

no matter how much i want. . ./

"No, you don't understand, dear.

I'm gone - no more goodbyes.

I'll see you on a new horizon.

I love you, so don't hurt yourself.

Take care.

We'll keep in touch."

(She turns and walks away.

Question marks have spilled out of her brain

and are beginning to clog her nose and throat.)

/why oh why oh why do i put up with this torment?

i only wanted a little taste

i didn't want the heavy load of him accepting me

and appreciating me

and - dare i even think it? - wanting to be near me

AND often

this, i could not take

so who's to blame me?

it's unnatural to be devoted to someone like me

it's idiotic

it's insane

and if the only way to stop it is to hurt him,

why i -

i -

i didn't mean to cause the pain

i know. . .

i could have stuck around and we could have gone through

hell together

and then -

then?

no, i've already been through all of this

it's settled

i've walked away and i have not left any personal belongings

in his house

i am the phosphorescent lamb,

and it's a sunset like the ads for the cigarettes i smoke

- i'm heading towards the Camel horizon. . ./

(She lifts her head up, dries her face,

and waits for the "walk" signal.)

She contemplates,

accelerates,

and diminishes.

- June 25, 1985, A.D.

You Want Me to Call, but I'm Still Recovering from your Beautiful Gift of Kryptonite

Don't you see?

I had to do it

otherwise, you would have allowed yourself hope

but there's no hope for your dream

I would do almost anything for you

but I will not lie

that's how we got here

and that's how we've got to stay

I don't mean to forget

and you make me guilty with the strength

of your memory

you were not a drop in a bucket

but what, exactly, you were has escaped

from my feelings, now

It was too intense

there was too much pain

there came a point where I had to 

let it all go

and then, no matter how I tried, 

I couldn't bring it back

Don't you see?

everything I do seems beyond my control

I lost you

and I can't get you back

Even today, I would do anything not to hurt you

but there are some actions 

that I have to take

that will hurt

all I can say is I'm sorry

Don't let me bring you down

remember the good times -

hot summer days,

starry, clear nights -

they are some of the best memories I have

In a lot of ways, I'd love to go back to

that ideal history

I'd like to live in a world where people

can be so happy together

where everything is so good

But you see?

I've got no grasp on what is was, really

not any more

you want me to come back

but I don't know what to come back to

you want me to love again

but I don't remember what I was loving

A month later, and I hear you're back with her

you're getting nowhere

you'll never learn

but I can't hold it against you

because you feel there's only one other choice

and I can't provide you with that

So hold on

hold on to the memories

there is no other way

Our love was excellent in its time

but now we must move on. . .

- March 17, 1985, A.D.

Slaughterer, Reformed

Sometime, if you want, I'll give you the chance

I'll show you the crime I've committed

I'll show you one of the best friendships ever

slaughtered, by the hands of two amateurs

who let lies form a cloud between them

Sometime, if you want, if you give me the chance

I'll show you, step-by-step, the process

I'll re-enact it so well you'll see the blood on my hands

and feel the wound in your heart

as though you were my victim

Look down!  You, too, will see the blood on your hands

and I'll show you the process of lying

Or sometime, if you ask, if it's what you want

I'll show you the prevention

I'll teach you to fight off the dragon of Falsehood

and help you prevent such nightmares as I've seen

if you ask me, I'll save you from committing a murder

and any blood spilled on you 

will wash clean

- Jan. 13, 1985, A.D.

Shy Hellos

Yeah, I saw you once, out of the corner of my eye

you passed me -

I smiled -

you walked on by

six months ago, we would have talked all night

you should have stopped me to say hi

Yeah, I saw you at a party the other night

I passed you -

you smiled -

I walked on by

six months ago, we were together all the time

now, I can't look you in the eye

There's nothing we can do, we cannot speak

There is no road to truth, the channels break

There is no lead to light, it seems too late

Only time will judge old friends' and lovers' fate

Now, we've forgotten all the hateful lies

I greeted you -

you smiled -

and then said hi

six months from now, perhaps we'll bring to life

more shy hellos and less goodbyes

- Jan. 9, 1985, A.D.

Changing the Love Game, Part 2

Here, will I end whoever I've been for the last 4 months:

Okay, so I reached a new height

and meaning of love

I learned how to be an active force

in a relationship -

but when I tried it on everyone, 

I found it didn't work

some people just don't want you

to offer them your life

that's where I went wrong

I said, "Okay, I'm a pacifist.  I love human beings,

so they should at least respect me in return."

it isn't that easy

I said, "Okay, I'm learning about love, here,

and I've decided that I should try to love everyone

the same way."

no wonder things have failed

I said, "Fuck school.  I've got the whole world

to think about."

but the world is always spinning

meanwhile, I have a future to consider

I can't go on as I have been

it's been pointless

flower-children are too weak,

sensitive people just set themselves up

for the pain,

infatuation is too superficial,

and I'm not old enough to vote this year, anyway

I miss "The Noose", "The Projectile", 

"And the Meek Shall Inherit the Earth"

I miss the happy days of sarcasm

happy sarcasm, not bitter

It's not that I think too much,

because I'll always think too much,

but it's the content of my thoughts;

what garbage lies inside, unattended to?

what can I do to get rid of it?

There are a lot of people I really care about

and I'll do anything I can to make it easier

for them to understand me

they don't need to know the "ultimate ME",

they just need to know who I'm trying to be

they need a clue

I don't want to be "cosmic", "symbolic", and "radical"

I appreciate those terms,

but I don't want people to see me that way

I don't want to be a "mystery" to all mankind

I want to be clear and concise,

I want to have real, touchable dreams

and step away from this stifling cocoon.

if my friends are willing to endure another transition,

I'm willing to become "real" again

and find a new way

love is a drug

and it does have after effects

it's done this to me

but now, I want to be cured.

- Oct. 19, 1984, A.D.

Poetic Bullshit, Part 2

Here,

read this, too, you asshole

I know it's poetic bullshit,

but it's my life

do you understand in the least what

I've been through?

I can't believe you

I can't believe myself for caring so much

about you

no, I'm not the most sensitive idiot in the world

but when it comes to people I really care about

treating me like shit -

that gets to me

"what did I do?" you ask

don't ask

half of these fucking poems are for you,

so don't ask

as long as we're being "just friends"

hell, why not "just acquaintances"?

I wanted a piece of your heart,

which I thought was accessible,

but it's too hard for you

you're giving me a headache beyond belief

and I'm about to just say

fuck it.

- Oct. 5, 1984, A.D.

Poetic Bullshit

when did it end?

was it yesterday?

or was it long ago?

what's the point in loving you forever?

or even saying so?

there are many others on that list,

and will be a dozen times more

I love you for the pain you've brought me

it's like no pain I've ever had before

thank you, thank you, thank you

I'd kiss your feet if you'd only let me

and you're such a beautiful person

or is it an illusion?

I don't want to be sarcastic,

but I love you like you'll never love me

why?

if I knew why, then maybe I could stop

poetic bullshit...

wasted lines

wasted life

and 17 years too long...

- Oct. 4, 1984, A.D.

Note to My Has-Been, Would-Be, Might-Be Lovers

My Dear Lover,

It has come to my attention that you and I are not as close as I would prefer.  I make up for this in poetry.  Still, it could be better.  You are where my "work" begins and ends.  [Just don't ever call me "baby"]

I want a relationship with you.  You know it.  Now, I need your help.  You see, I'm going crazy without you.  I am longing for the infinite kiss.  You are Gemini.  You are Aries.  You could be the 13th zodiac, for all I care.  I just want you by my side.  If nothing else, help to cure my poetry!  Help get these unfruitful obsessions out of my mind.  It's insane...

- Oct. 2, 1984, A.D.

The Projectile

my interjection

was a question

of exclamatory rage

as I escaped the projectile

your words were the projectile

moving between my conscious and subconscious minds

they hung in the air of the psyche's realm

and drifted to the floor of my emotion

but never touched ground

until, gaining speed, they became the projectile

the case in point

because you knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt,

what would happen

do I detect a subtle amusement in your eyes?

am I just another fated victim?

you have taken it upon yourself to exterminate

those who still put faith in love

"What the fuck are you trying to do to me?!"

my interjection

I escaped the projectile

but I couldn't escape you

- March 27, 1984, A.D.

We Went Cold

Somewhere inside of him, he went cold

then something inside of me went cold in turn

so much for the Xmas present

so much for the ambiguous lifestyle

so much for the self-hatred

insecurity

and extra appendage

so much...

and all for what?

and all as a cause of what?

lost in a timeless dilemma,

it's done over and over again

it takes a particular type of strength

which I wasn't willing to produce

I need myself

I need my friends

but I don't need this

so I didn't take it

causes -

there are so many causes

why I was cold

why I drew back

why I let him see it and waited for him 

to say it

maybe he's jealous of my relationship with Emerson

or maybe...

or maybe...

there's no answer

there aren't even questions

so why search so hard into emotions?

it's all laid out before our eyes

if I wanted, I could build the bridge back up

but in all honesty, I don't want to

it's winter, now

time to be with myself

time to hibernate, 

alone, with pure thoughts

life is a struggle, but living is easy

and it's time to move on...

- Dec. 2, 1983, A.D.