everything means so much more than it means

i can’t keep it together

these days

i’m cracked open

and whatever it is

that i’ve been trying to contain

just spills out



it’s hard to go

to the living rooms

and bars

everyone there just keeps filling each others cup

even though they’re already overflowing

spilling onto the carpet

leaking into the floorboards

flooding up the basements

where drunk writers

talk about what it means to write


but you can’t write about meaning

you can only try to find meaning

in what you write


there are these colors

that come to me

and beg me to open them up

and look inside

“we are the present

you’ve been waiting for”

they say

but i run

as fast as i can

from what it means to mean something

by what it means to see you here


across the room

as imperfect ashtrays

try to measure

the weight of your words

in smoke

that leaks out the corners of your mouth

like arms

reaching up

towards heaven

hoping there will be someone

who will pull you up

right out of this room


and the light escapes

even as it searches for a way back in


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