weswallowthesun

but i’ll dream of you often 

you’ll remain in my thoughts 

and memories 

and of those, i have many 

which i’ve written in verse 

and sketched on tissues 

piled in waste cans

under the sink 

you may just be a year 

a year in passing 

so modest 

at first glance

a year brimming with all

the ample helpings 

of the deservedly tragic 

occasionally happy

and the more or less

necessary events 

that still seem to 

blemish these 

porcelain hands

and oil these 

rusty bones 

and iron out a few 

of the countless flaws 

that still wrinkle this soul

you’ve silenced me 

and sometimes even 

surprised me 

i felt breath and heart 

pulled and pried 

you’ve lied to me 

so that i might find 

a scrap of truth 

behind the bristles of my tooth brush 

you’ve been a dicey year 

and i’m glad of it 

you’ve challenged me 

beaten me

and drawn me closer 

to the things that matter

so if there are a few last words

i’d like to say 

it would be 

i’m happy you came 

and i’m happy you’re leaving 

you’ve given me more 

than i wanted 

but so much 

of what i needed 

so thank you

so long

adieu

and goodnight

.

.

.

~weswallowthesun 

i’m stimulated by uncertainty—

made mad by my mind

(wanderlust)

i scream for adventure

my imagination is a volcano in the dark

it erupts when the lights dim low and soft

my chest is cramped

my lungs are paper-thin

the air is slim

my limbs are itching for a thrill

my heart is an atomic river

i feel so undeniably small

smothered in my own skin

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.

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~weswallowthesun

one night

i’ll wake to hear you breathing

asleep on the pillow beside me 

and my life will finally

start to make some sense 

.

it’ll be dark, the windows frosted

an hour or two before the light

ambles through 

the slits in our blinds 

i’ll find your loose fingers 

and legs 

still laced with mine 

your hair strung out across 

your face

(and between your lips)

buried 

in blankets 

up to your nose 

and i’ll know 

that it all was worth it  

every time a girl borrowed my heart until they were bored and tossed it in the blender; every time i made a fool of myself for a girl i adored and all they did was turn their back and roll their eyes; every night i spent thinking up the perfect lines to whisper in her ear to only find the words, at the time i spoke them, stumbling from my lips, clumsy as a rhinoceros in a pantry full of china; every time i followed my heart to find that she was also following hers and our paths didn’t quite align; every time i found out that all we had ever been were friends; every christmas under the mistletoe without a kiss; every new years eve without a hand to hold; every time i said goodbye; every failed attempted; every rejection; every year i spent chasing after the wrong one to only find that it was you and only you that mattered

.

so, to all the tearing of hearts, pounding of fists, bursting of lungs, and draining of tears

.

let it come

.

.

i’d run through a brick wall to find you

~weswallowthesun

i was seven, i knew her. kinda. she had long, shiny black hair. she wore a red ribbon, i’m almost sure. her eyes were blue. she had freckles all over her face and i always wanted to sit down and count them all one by one. i guess i knew her better by the way i felt when she was two feet from my toes. i don’t remember her name. all i remember is that i had a wrinkly dollar bill and a stubby pencil in my pocket and nervous hands that would spill a glass of milk every time they tried to pick one up. i managed to write out about a sentence on that dollar bill. it was my first attempt at a love poem of all i knew of love and girls. it went:

“i do nott kno u, but i tink i kinda kno u & u r vary pritty like a flwer or a rainbo, but bettar cuz u r a girl. i love u.” 

that’s when she saw me and i saw her and paused then gulped and i gave her the note and she didn’t say a word and she tucked it in her pocket and stopped chewing her gum and plucked it from her lips and stuck it in my palm then gave me a smile and left in a van with her mother. that’s also when my tiny heart shot off like a mushroom cloud. i felt like an ocean too infinite to tred by doggy paddle.

.

.

i’m pretty sure i drowned. 

.

.

.

~weswallowthesun

(After six years of meticulous planning, French high-wire artist Philippe Petit type-rope walked across a wire that stretched between The World Trade Centers in August of 1974)

.

.

If I were a ghost

I swear, I’d crawl

Between your bones

Within the skull

And dwell inside

Your mind

For just

One hour

That static hour

When time

Did cease to chime

And breaths

Were held

So many eyes

Beheld

You perch

As the dove

Or the sparrow

Toes and feet

Asphyxiating

A wire

Taunt

Between

Two towers 

Without a net

Without a chute

Without a license

Or a plan

For if you fell

But if you fell

I think that you’d

Have smiled

And knew that

You had lived

With blood

That feared

Not man

Or death

Or pain

Or grief  

Or fame

Or failure

But lived for

Passion

And with a 

Heart

That of a martyr

You risked 

For your own pride

In what made

You come so

Truly alive 

.

.

.

~weswallowthesun

I may not be able to promise you I’ll take you all those places that you’ve read about in books, but I’ll promise to tell you stories and fill your heart with love and words and thoughts and truth.

I cannot lasso you the moon but you’re more than welcome to see its reflection in my spoon.

I cannot fly you to the Louvre but I know that I can paint you worlds you’ve never seen in the palms of your hands and the knobs of your knees.

You can probably tell I can’t promise that you’ll ever see Verona but I’ll promise we’ll sip cider and pretend that it’s fine wine and spin scratchy Italian records through the rafters all night sleeping beneath the stars.

And as it goes, I cannot promise that we’ll ever go to Paris and stand atop the Eiffel Tower but I’ll promise that we’ll perch on rooftops singing over skylines with candy cigarettes and watch black-and-white French films without the subtitles and make up every line they say as if we’re sitting at an old cafe.

I cannot promise that there’ll be presents every year beneath the Christmas tree or that there’ll be any Christmas tree at all, but I’ll promise that I’ll wrap myself in lights and ribbons, and I’ll let you unwrap me all for free.

I cannot promise that you’ll always be happy every day or that I’ll always have a joke to tell, or that I’ll always know just what to say exactly when I should say it, but I’ll promise to be honest and loyal till your knuckles start to lock and your hair turns white and your breasts droop and liver spots start to grow with cataracts on your eyes and winkles on your face and all the way down your thighs and we’ll never leave an argument bitter or resentful but I’ll always choose to stick it out until I see a smile on your face.

I promise I’ll try to be unselfish, kind and gracious and forgiving and I’ll pray for wisdom every chance I see. I can’t promise that you won’t fall out of love, but if you do, I’ll pursue you till you fall back into me. 

These pockets may be empty, but I swear my jacket’s warm.

I’ll reserve my lips for you, my fingers and my heart. Also these arms and eyes, yes these eyes that look at you as if you’re a goddess most divine even when you’re hair’s a mess and your make-up’s smeared and you’re wearing an old T-shirt.

All this is yours for the keeping. As well as these words, they’re free, so tuck them in your sleeves.

I cannot give you a Hollywood romance, but I can give you love and I hope that that’s enough. 

.

.

.

~weswallowthesun

Ten years ago, today 

You were here on Christmas 

It was a different house

I was younger, so much younger 

Hardly a hair on my chest 

You sat in a salmon colored chair 

With a green robe and a white T shirt 

You were thinner, but your eyes 

Still remained the same 

Brilliant blue, like the ocean

Why I’m drawn to it even now 

As if with each passing wave 

I’ll catch a glimpse of you 

I can’t remember you well 

But I still can see your smile 

Your eyes and the way you laughed 

And the way you held me closer 

When I tried to run away 

So for this Christmas 

And every Christmas after 

I’ll promise you that

If I choose to laugh

I’ll laugh with all my breath 

And if I choose to love

I’ll love with all my heart 

And if I choose to dance 

I’ll dance until I can’t 

And if I choose to give 

I’ll give until it’s gone

For if this day means anything 

I’ll make the most of everything 

I love you dad, 

Forever, 

Your son

.

.

.

~weswallowthesun

i cannot tell you where

i’ll be ten years

from now 

nor can I tell you where

i’ll be in ten minutes 

i try to listen

closely

to the cadence

of my heart 

but the needle

of my compass 

seldom ever

points true north 

so maybe, only maybe

i was never meant 

to know

exactly where 

or how or what 

i dearly should expect 

so I will stay this course 

without the guidance 

of the stars 

or a map 

or destination 

or no place to call my own

but this can’t be done without you

so please

won’t you be my home?

.

.

.

~weswallowthesun

.

.

.

they say that space is the final frontier

(are not we forgetting something?)

we have yet to discover the pathways

of the human heart

every delicate feature

cannot be explained through neuroscience 

or psychology

or naturalistic intuition

for love is a spark too highly unique 

it is not physics

or mathematical equations 

you cannot conceive of it with solely your mind 

these intangible thoughts far escape the scrutiny

of a microscope

or a physician’s scalpel,

or a chemist’s tube 

and even more

they try to reduce it 

to merely behavior

as if every action could be done

without the slightest intention to love

but sex is cannibalistic 

and flowers a bribe if

not for motives of unselfish desire

but how does one describe unquenchable fire? 

if not through poetry

and metaphors

and words 

that are breathed through lips and teeth

stretching far beneath,

back through vibrations from strings of the heart—

muscles contracting,

neurons firing, 

cells splitting,

electrons orbiting

(this is not love—love is immaterial)

you cannot define it through nature alone

love is more than animal instinct 

love is more than verbs 

love is more than words 

love is more 

.

.

.

if you find the answer, please let me know

.

.

~weswallowthesun

I’m the dried flower pressed between the pages of your book

I’m the copper spoon jangled between the walls of your mug

I’m a glass lens posed between the moon and your eyes

I’m a horn bow cradled between the arrow and your pinch

I’m the chilled ink drained between the pen and your thoughts

I’m the tattered raft postured between the ocean and your feet 

I’m the afterthought, the placeholder, the crutch

(But when your plane goes down)

I’m the blind ripcord stitched between the earth and your hand

(If I wasn’t there, where would you land?)

.

.

.

~weswallowthesun

.

let’s end this now

before we both burn 

and get swept with the ashes 

into dustpans and pales

i’d rather not see the 

last of our friendship 

jared in a urn 

as a mantlepiece

along

with all of the rest

of the lost

and unrequited 

of yesterdays 

loves

.

.

~weswallowthesun

i lied in a bed.

(alone) 

the windows were cold to the touch with the back of my hand.

i breathed once on the glass.

it fogged. i never traced a heart, because i couldn’t find a reason to do so.

i didn’t speak for there was no need to speak. the room spoke for me. i listened and the ghosts told me everything. too much, i’d have to say. in an ocean of static, i knew i had drowned, vanishing—inch by inches inch. each breath escaping from the pocket of my lungs. 

i allowed my eyes to dilate, finding nothing i hadn’t seen before—plain and old things. there were pale beige walls, except for a dark blue stripe that ran in a circle around my head, like the fan above it, static, collecting dust and loose strands of silk from when the spiders packed up and left. they never told me why. i never asked.

against the wall were two cherry wood dressers—some drawers were crammed with orphaned notes, ripped envelopes, ticket stubs, candy wrappers, sketches of dreams, lists of things never uncrossed, journals once started then neglected, empty film cases, photographs of worlds i never owned, postcards of places i’ve never been, secrets encrypted with numbers and colors…

there was a desk beside my bed without a chair. on it lied empty sheets of paper waiting to be ravaged with words and ink. but as virgins, i left them. all those words that were meant to be written but never found a voice. 

a year ago, today, i was hollow. i was faint. 

a year from then, today, i feel whole. i am strong. 

a year from then, today, i don’t feel nervous to wake up every morning, and my hands don’t start to shake when i walk out from the door. now i do not fear the talk of tomorrow. i’m older now and i don’t feel old. it’s colder now and i don’t feel cold. 

this body once ached. i couldn’t find the words to sing. i searched, please believe me, but they never came. i cried for years and just got weary. you’d understand, i know you would. i cried until my soul was numb. 

a year from then, today, i feel my heart, it’s drumming; my chest is full and warm. place your hand to my skin, you’ll feel it.  

a year ago, today, i lost touch in the magic; i lost touch. i spent so long waiting for a miracle and never took the time to realize all the ones i had forgotten. 

a year ago, today, i was alone. 

a year from then, today, i found a home. 

.

.

~weswallowthesun