I keep trying.

A clutching hand in the blue light –
with the floor heaving steadily in time,
listening to the feedback with our ribcages
more than anything.
I fill my head with music,
and pack it in so tight that the knowledge comes running out of my ears
and there’s nothing left inside but me and the noise
and for days after, the sound of consciousness coming back
rings like a forgotten fire alarm
somewhere.
And that’s the way it is
as the crowd surges and tries to rush the stage
and safety looms up out of nowhere,
towering clouds of threat,
and it’s hard to tell him against me
from the rest of the pulsing mob.
Because we’re all connected,
and we’re all running over and through each other,
all singing and screaming,
breathing through one pair of smoke-choked lungs,
one raw throat.
It doesn’t matter who I am or who he is
because we’re no one.
We’re all of us no one.
We’re all of us one,
clutching each other in the blue light
because that’s how it is.

“Houston, the 2nd of September” – 9/07/06

We improvised a tunnel,
and when the cavern swallowed up the noise
from the tires indefatigably pounding the road to sand
she threw her hands in the air
and she laughed like we were six,
and riding our first rollercoaster.

Except that we never rode that rollercoaster together,
Because we’re new to this friendship business
even if it doesn’t feel that way.

It’s okay, because an infinite number of secrets
will be wrapped in the distance
and forgotten.

And we four can sleep all tangled on the floor
And not worry about the dawn before noon.

Our relationship exists inside a vacuum –
And when we go under that makeshift tunnel,
And that vacuous model is all around us,

that’s the moment.