Somehow, being in concert with each other became the ideal

“Gee, I don’t know, Pete. There’s a lot of thinking on that.

Y’know some people would say that doing that to each other it’s like uh,
Selfless, it’s a way to show love. It’s to show… you’re doing that for them

And she’s doing it to you, right?”

No. That ain’t love, listen to me. This is love:

Love is when you hold a woman up close to ya, like this.
And you look her on the face–eye to eye and you’re holdin’ on tight.
And you LOVE her. And she loves you.

And you’re inside of her and she starts coming and then you come.

Then you’re kissing her with every part of your body.

That’s love. I mean you can fuck around with all this other shit all you want
But I’m telling you, that’s what I wait for. Comes rare in life
Very rare.

But that’s all there is.”

-Uncle Pete (From “Horace and Pete”)

How sincere and profound this idea is

To think two separate people
Could experience the same coloured reprieve
At the exact same time in the exact same bed

How absolutely silly and amusing it is


Scotty Ocean, Age 7

He pushed open his parents’ door.


Scotty practically leapt over the lump under the sheets that was his father. He came down on the other side; he came between his parents and he landed as inconspicuously as any seven-year-old boy could. He waited for the mattress to go still from the aftershocks. He rolled away from his father toward his mother when he found that side of the bed to be empty, the pillow fresh. He felt for her; he peered over the side to see if she’d rolled on the the floor. He checked under the bed. He slid open the closet door.



He finally said, poking the Judge gently in the back.




Hmmmm,” said the Judge, more asleep than not.


Where’s mom?” Scotty whispered.


In a voice too loud, the Judge replied,

She doesn’t want to live here anymore.


Scotty did not breathe. He felt no noticeable pain. He rolled off the bed and walked quietly back to his room. He climbed in his bed, determined to not seem surprised.

He didn’t move for a long time.


As he lay there, it was as if a vacuum hose had been inserted down his throat,
for he could not
speak, and everything vital, everything pure,
got sucked out, everything sucked out until finally only his heart remained;
its veins and ventricles and arteries clung to his rib.

He imagined the high-pitched sound a vacuum makes
when a piece of plastic or a baby sock clogs the passageway.

Then something shifted,
the whine of the vacuum kicked to a higher pitch,
the heart began to stretch, to be pulled,
and finally it was ripped out and went screaming down the tube,


-“An Ocean in Iowa” by Peter Hedges


Maybe you’ll limp your way out of this just in time
There’s no possibility that you won’t escape without being bruised and winded

Here’s a simple advice though
Don’t look at her

That’s it
Just to survive her
Ground your eyes from seeking

Not allowing yourself that immediate, mandatory staggering happiness
You feel when you glance at her
Is the best precautionary measure to withstand this

I get it
The sensation of witnessing someone captivatingly lovely
The alluring ongoing seconds you stare may seem harmless
A temporary chemically induced ecstasy

But it isn’t
Like everything else that makes us feel good about ourselves
Once it’s over, we’ll seek it guiltless and without doubt
This is beauty that draws and scythes

It doesn’t leave you
You’ll find yourself adrift
Mapping and carving and failing every curvature of her face
Wishing that you had been more attentive and present

Looking at her
I have decided. As ridiculous as it sounds
Is an act of suicidal pyromancy

You’ll feel pieces in the depths of your fcking insides scratching and sparking
Surging warmth into your chest then everywhere else
Veins withholding flame

Burning coal. Alive. Life bartered for ashes

A just, fixed toll for the insurgence of loving the pretty. The kind one not just states but lives candidly.


“It pains. It should. I wouldn’t have dove if it was impartial, resolved–complete.”


It isn’t the same if it didn’t bleed 

If it didn’t cussed, fought, deceived

If it wasn’t treated as ending–diseased

Tortured, blood, and coughs’ are syrup for wanting to believe

“Beauty is glass in molding and in the midst of breaking”


If a wall clock breaks
What tolls you to go
If suns were shrouded and nights grayed
How could you tell you awoke

Is there such a thing as timely and unprovoked
Misshapen are dances when beats are uncontrolled
Finicky. The questions when you gave attention
Overwhelmed and overboard
for the most fitting cogs in motion

Puppets spring of strings peeled
Mannequins mechanize if joints strive–contrive

What really happens when you don’t spectate but speculate

I wouldn’t fall for her if time didn’t ticked
But still, you wouldn’t break even if it did




I want to sail myself on unkind waves
Tragically spiralling alone of frigid salt water
And drown peerless and forlorn

Compared to where I am
A voyage to anywhere else is far better
Because anywhere else is away from you

I hope where I’m headed to be cold
Cold enough to be anesthetic
Then maybe the iron in my blood would have froze

I have loved but love kept in distance and unanswered
The kind piece of shits like me only knows
But I have inattentively made you a necessity I can’t get rid of

I am still veins anchored to a ship I don’t want to be a part of
Tethered. Close to rupture. Still unrequited. Unsold

Hold on
Just a moment

Let me have one last shot
At a farewell controlled

This needs no subtlety or fancy phrasing

Please let me stop loving her first

Before I have to usher the best thing I have to someone else