“howling”

dark skies lit up
truth like a neon sign
the glow illuminating
the surrounding areas-

'this is not what i want'

fact-
unchangeable once realized-
look it up and you will find it-
you will find it in your history books
never changing under reinterpretation
next to stories of the norman conquest-

in 1066 william the conqueror led the
normans into england from france-
a hundred and thirty-eight years later king james lost france-
cutting the normans off from their base-
the english continued to be the masses and the french nobility lost touch with their roots bringing in a sudden rush of neo-anglican french-

it is very easy to lose sight of what is important

the new that i'm looking for
won't be found at dance clubs-
thursday nights-
80s music playing-
surrounded by friends-
stray hands avoiding cigarette burns

won't be found at parties-
white kids
drunk on light beer
dancing to
top forty hiphop-
holding blue plastic party cups
overhead in right hands
moving in beat to the music

won't be found
turning around
abandoning conversation
with a man-faced boy
in a backwards baseball cap-
facing me to talk
as that man-faced boy
stares at her ass
laughing with his boys-
talking-
joking-
about whether or not
she gives good head

won't be found
in coffee shops-
cellular phones out-
books left unread-
highlighters ablaze
with the fury of necessity
looking for answers about
organic chemistry

won't be found
wearing a belt
that changes color
with every passing trend-
abandoning former friends-
personality traits-
interests-
passions-
with the same capriciousness
with which the belt went
from white to pink

i contend that love
can feel like it does in movies

i contend that answers-sought
can be found within the words of a poem

i contend that one's own truth
can best be found
on cold nights-
standing underneath a shade tree
with a tire swing attached to its longest
branch
and leaves yellowing-
alone in a crowd-
listening to headphones
that sing of love-

i contend that all art
is political-
is personal-
is about love-
is about hope-
is about change-
is about walking downtown
hands grasping styrofoam cups full of
coffee-
laughing-
wind blowing-
warmth coming not from within-
but from without




i contend that salvation is not a
christian concept-
not a construct of religion-

i contend that salvation
exists
only after midnight-
only when your telephone rings
on nights you thought you were alone-
the salvation of-

i contend-

do you remember
when we were so tired and the nights that summer
started late
so we were still awake at five am-
so convinced that we would never grow old-
that the world would never end-
that we could never ever die

do you remember
when every stranger's face
promised hope-
promised love-
promised opportunity-
when every day the prospect of the infinite
seemed so firmly within reach
that only cowards could be lonely

do you remember-
it was so long ago-
when you had the answers
i thought i needed-
when i still believed
that anyone else could offer answers-
when truth seemed inalterable-
when facts in history books were written by the hand of the divine
before i learned that the divine truth
was written by the winners of wars-
before i learned that we believe
what
we
want
to-
before i learned that both of those beliefs
were just ideas i thought i heard in a song
playing on my tape deck as i was driving home from work
alone and inspired
fucked up and tired
burnt out and wired-
so desperate for answers then-

do you remember when you told me things i wanted to hear and i elevated them to subjective truth-
and i will do it again-
i will do it every time i-

do you remember!
do you remember!

the world has been both better and worse
than we see it now-

do you remember!

hey-
i sometimes lie awake
and notice the spot in my bed where you used to sleep
and it doesn't bother me anymore



i sometimes think back to picking you up in my car and us driving to the donut store in the middle of the night
every time i walk past a place where pastries are baking i smell your orange juice and my chocolate milk
and i wonder how it's possible life has moved this far this fast-

there was a dream i had a few nights ago
and i never told anyone about it
but we went out for coffee the next day
and i wanted to bring it up so bad-
i wanted to know that it didn't have to be confined to my head-
i wanted to pour out the things that made me feel strange-

there was a dream i had a few nights ago
and you were in it but you weren't yourself-
you were a werewolf
and the president hated werewolves
and every time the full moon came up
i chained you to the tree in the backyard-
the one with the tire swing-
and you yelled and screamed and howled and the moon was so bright it looked like a neon sign in the sky telling me truths and every time i looked up at it there was more in the world that i could see that had been obscured before-
and you kept barking at the moon-
the president sent out the soldiers to hunt down the werewolves
but you were safe in the backyard-
howling-

i never tell anyone my dreams
i never tell anyone the things that scare me
i never tell anyone the revelations that come to me-
re-writing fact-
i never tell anyone
i never tell anyone


i never tell anyone
but sometimes when i lie awake at night
and the sun starts coming up
and i've looked at the patterns of the specks in the ceiling
until i've found a butterfly and a maple leaf and the profile view of ozzy osbourne's face-
and that space in the bed somehow makes the whole world feel larger-
like at any moment
i could roll over
and find the most perfect person
in the entire world
occupying it
so long as i knew where to look-

i never tell anyone
but sometimes on those nights
i remember science classes
and i remember that the moonlight
is just sunlight reflected back at us
and i go to sleep when the sun comes up
because i've seen too much in the moonlight
and i can't handle the sun

i started a petition to end                                 
daylights savings time
because i was scared i would die one summer
before they gave that hour back-
i got forty-six signatures and i lost the paper
and i never tried to start it again
because i realized that i was losing more hours to my cause
than to what i was trying to change

i read a poem once
that made me want to start writing poetry-
that made me want to change the world-
that made me believe that poetry could cure cancer-
could end war forever-
could make people fall in love-
could make me fall in love-
could make-

i read a poem once
that talked about history-
that included a recipe for black bean enchiladas-
that explained the golden ratio-
1+2=3, 2+3=5, 3+5=8
stretched through infinity-
divided upon itself-
manifesting itself into
an objective perfection-
if a then b-
if b then c-
therefore a then c-
and happiness never seemed as
mathematic
as it did after i read that poem

it hit me as i read that poem
that truth wasn't meant to be                                     
found
in history books
that talk of king james
and william the conqueror

it hit me as i read that poem
that truth was not fact-
that truth was math-
and i stopped looking for answers
in the beauty of the subjective
and after that night
i stopped looking for what i wanted
anywhere i thought it might be found