Chatham Station: Welcome Home

 
The mind plays tricks,
but this of course you knew
after see and saw.
No one won the series,
but a champion was crowned,
nonetheless.
This must be destiny,
I thought,
as I was dragged inside.
Sat in the swiveling chair
and stared at the walls,
clean metal statue in hand.
He spoke from behind horns
that curled to infinity.
You're so far
from where you belong.
Welcome home.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Foo Fighters, Monkey Wrench

Chatham Station: Years in the Dark

 
The gears clicked neatly into place
like they were tied to strings
and swung wildly by some deity
who couldn't care less
what happened after he was done.
They coincide and I feel the rush,
the stupid, bemused emotion
fizzling up my spine,
landing with a horridly satisfying squelch
deep in the frontal lobe.
It's nothing so significant, she said.
A feeling, yes,
but of a smaller caliber.
I couldn't help myself to answer,
not after the chase, the back and forth,
arms fired by the emotion
until the acid burned no longer.
Passion stemmed from one heart or another,
but never both at once.
Some lovely summer flower
lopped off, petals bent in anxiety,
killed in the shade.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Portugal. The Man, Kill Me. The King

Chatham Station: Fathoms

 
Water pushed up sideways,
blurred in the beer haze five deep,
fathoms and otherwise.
When she finally saw I ran,
tumbled as fast as I could on all fours
but turned the wrong way.
It's all I have left to build,
trample it down in layers
to try and cross the sea.
It's a blue I built single-handed,
filled in the lines with crayon
when acrylics were within easy reach.
So here's to another one gone,
when I reached out my arms and grasped air.
What's another six feet?
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Coheed & Cambria, Three Evils (Embodied In Love And Shadow)

Chatham Station: Past The River

 
Winds send water in ripples,
movements wonderfully tiny
but more sure of themselves
than I think I've ever been.
I watched the liquid wrinkle
until I saw her face appear,
beautiful, but unhappy, the
only way I can remember it.
Mine once, until it started
to decay, blank check signed
and bounced. Now I hunt for
a remedy, hopelessly, because
she is the only antidote. I
feel as though I'm standing,
blank stare blank mind, before
a hundred outlets at a power
station, and the only way to
come back, feel alive, is to
stick a fork in each one.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Talib Kweli & Hi-Tek
(feat. Jay Electronica, J Cole, Mos Def), Just Begun

Chatham Station: A Tunnel

 
It's every morning, I said
over breakfast, tossed and turned.
Platform littered with humanity
dragging by suitcases, briefcases,
head cases. You're one of them,
you know, nose upturned and
fork mid-dredge in eggs,
yolk runny like soaking sunlight,
I told myself. I was right.
Morning,
six-seventeen
bound for
wherever.
Heard horns,
saw but
couldn't reach
a blue hand
out to her.
Wanted to
spring up,
but glue
held strong.
Settled for the words' consolation,
theme park ride for those
who couldn't get off their surface,
dance to love. Stuck rigid instead.
Wanted to dive, roll down cylinders
after her, broad portals held open to
bring me somewhere new.
Sighed and threw a line to fish
for something bright, the lustrous way off.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
The Eagles, New York Minute

Chatham Station: Words

 
Last night I decided I would do something I've never tried before: writing a poem series (that is, tell a story through a series of poems). The series is going to be called "Chatham Station," and this is the first installment, "Words."
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I spilled down the inside curve
Waited for the edge to catch me
Hopped off and upward
Leapt from pillar to pillar to peak
Slid across icy flatness
To columns almost silent
Tipped the spike and landed
Tumbling into 13, the valley.

Struggled then to the hiss sound
Mitigated on the roads' surfaces
Despite the barbed obstruction
Impending like pinnacle through clouds
Stepped the single notch
Lurched off the bow of the earth
Barely grasped the last ledge end.

But still,
she remained unacquainted
with my fervor.
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Brand New, The Archers Bows Have Broken