Infinity Blues

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Infinity Blues Page 8

by Ryan Adams


  makes me go lost

  like a shaking a curse

  or cops

  if she or i were a punk

  with

  eyes on the stranger

  past a hot dog stand

  body and soul all tired

  again

  or

  white snow flurries come

  onto cars

  and the sides of buses

  onto the christmas body rushes

  she sees an old lover

  but i have given her to me

  and i go

  a given thing

  now as a gesture

  of closure

  for

  this awful thing

  a new party of one

  did you see?

  did you see that?

  fast fast fast

  letters turning to ice

  like winter breath

  those nights

  gosh they came and went came and went

  i am not at the party

  not dancing

  not laughing

  not drinking

  not holding a glass

  not seeing your dress

  not under a moon

  not with you

  not facing east or west

  did you see the witches moon

  it hovered and stalled

  like a car under piles of wet

  puddles oil snakes dancing

  inside them like metal rainbow worms

  in that dirty mix

  i am not with you inside that room

  not under stairs

  not under lights

  not hearing music

  not talking

  not knowing if it’s alright

  you are not putting your hand on my knee

  i am not breathing

  i am not at that party

  not tonight

  i went

  fast fast fast

  did you see?

  did you see?

  i think i thought i loved you

  i think i thought i loved you

  i always did

  vampire eyes

  milk skin

  i think i thought i loved you

  how you moved, your body

  ownership driven

  natural slave runner

  i hate you

  your matching pairs

  your split ends

  your dying figure

  your shadow

  i hate you

  your collapsible will

  your petty drip

  of a wordless silence attempt

  you bite your lip

  moons crack

  you looked like a hill

  climbable

  of clouded rose

  tree spirit and blue-eyed explosions

  of marble-headed jar break

  on the cement

  full-on spring

  light everywhere blasting

  but my how evil are you are you

  tornado t o r n a d o

  in a neighborhood

  soft

  with us quiet dreamers

  i think i loved you

  your power pains

  your hungry stomach

  your hair falling out

  your scraping shower gloves

  pink and blue

  i think i thought i loved you

  in the shower

  trying to remove yourself

  from your own body

  into a drain

  clogged

  like my mouth forever silenced in awful

  horrid

  disgusting pain

  i hate you

  i hate you

  my god

  once

  once in a while

  i think i thought i loved you

  Your Side Now

  on your side now

  is books

  i moved the pillows

  up top

  like they forgot

  or i did

  but we did not

  me and the pillows know

  something’s missing

  and the room

  the room does too

  it sighs

  when i come in

  the door

  when i arrive

  thinks i am you

  and sighs

  or is that me

  my insides

  hmmmm

  i scare myself

  see my shadow or myself

  in the mirror

  sometimes both

  i sigh too

  on your side now

  i leave the phone

  the books and space

  any single lifetime takes

  if it took breaths

  like it climbed

  a summertime hill

  all day

  that bed

  so sad

  it limps and lies down

  shuffleboard headed

  old

  and

  on your side now.

  enough rope

  if only i had enough rope

  i would lasso that moon

  down

  and deliver it to you

  even though

  it would split the ocean

  and the sea

  in twos

  and threes

  i would beg for your mercy

  i would cry at your knees

  god

  i miss you so

  you have no idea you know

  i am lost

  this place in time, where is this, what is this, why

  why did we do this?

  to me

  it is done

  by us both

  the isolation

  and speculation on, how much rope

  is enough

  enough rope

  i am imaginary letters

  hopeless telephone feathers

  zero till fade

  i am white-out

  ghost after ghost

  33 and in ruins

  i am research now

  a controlled experiment

  for her favorites

  i am in the out box

  no return address and no topics

  a landmark

  a call for help

  red

  surrounded by three guides

  truth beauty and justice

  a t.v. screen

  i once walked across–cowboy-boot drunk

  on a glistening ship of a night

  a four-post bed

  where everything that happens

  is only something in my head

  in my mind

  and outside

  it might as always be snowing now

  for the lack of going out

  or in

  how sad

  how sad

  and this

  this is no way to begin

  but i take meaurements

  to keep me sane

  to validate

  what is real

  and

  what is pretend

  just for now

  just in case

  how much

  is enough

  enough rope.

  Closed

  closed

  that is what i am today

  closed

  robbed

  isles fucking broken

  baseball batted

  winged

  with colorful sweets scattered

  all over the floor

  God, I hit my knees that day

  and wanted so bad

  just wanted to say

  “please, please bring her home,

  back to me …”

  but all my mouth

  could sputter

  with tear dribble

  was,

  “i am so weak”

  “i am so weak”

  like a record player

  floating in space

  forever on repeat

  w
ater

  running down my snotted face

  from my eyes

  at the foot of the bed

  head touching the throw blanket

  i used to fuck her on

  and sleep next to her in

  Jesus,

  what a thing to feel

  the eyes of Brahman

  and us

  upon the wheel

  and in that moment she was on a beach just then

  with an old man who collects million-dollar checks

  from taking people’s businesses from them

  and breaking them into things he can sell

  their hearts ripped out first

  and placed at the ferry well

  eventual ice-box dinner food

  microwaved

  and fit for moveable trays

  and football games coming

  those poor people of the long winter

  a fat fuck with a driver, a car

  and some special foreign name

  on a beach,

  two of them,

  him, at least 50-something

  while I was asking God,

  asking God for someone

  God,

  who must be so busy his doorbell is bloody

  on a beach

  the two of them

  i saw a photograph later

  and puked

  into the toilet

  my guts

  for what I had left of love

  or the knowing

  closed

  that is what I am now

  closed

  robbed

  riddled with effects

  of a clearance sale

  when everything goes

  but the walls

  skin and bone

  so lost

  and

  closed

  Brass

  … when

  when the brass blows

  down that crooked lane

  is that when

  is that when you will

  you know

  say my name

  once more

  and

  maybe even cry

  no

  no i doubt that

  very

  very

  much

  … when

  Terrible

  in the days of a man’s life once in a while

  it happens,

  where you see the whole thing

  a whole life

  on a carton of milk as plain as day

  like you picked your own pockets

  and your heart alights

  and you see

  all

  the

  way

  down,

  to the end,

  in the days of a life,

  as a man might,

  i have peeked into that room

  maybe once or twice

  at the shining ember

  the ash

  of a life

  that i once had and it keeps me

  and it demands

  demands

  i steer this into worse waters

  further i go

  obeying its commands

  a death’s

  each time

  because inside tough guys inside men

  is just nothing but

  crocheted lined dangling legged walls

  of afraid kids

  making up names for things

  telling ghost stories

  while the walls rattle

  of something cruel

  something terrible

  just

  outside

  the

  door.

  Carnations

  missed birthday

  forgotten

  slipped my mind

  under the door in the doorpile

  of forgots

  and a fistful of carnations

  just browning on the edge

  that was NOT me

  not me

  i had a silent view of the backside of the buildings

  and i looked through

  and i saw a family

  a couple

  their privacy

  untouched by my sitting in the chair helpless

  alone

  wondering where were you

  and where was i

  and what does it mean

  when the bedroom

  says,

  “maybe lie down now and don’t get up”

  and,

  “i will hold you in a dream until you close”

  clutching a cold cell phone

  wondering

  helplessly

  dying to show more love

  like an animal

  feasting on the remains

  of a carcass

  of my own dried bones

  in the desert

  with two blankets at the foot of the bed

  one blue

  one brownish red

  Goodnight Little One

  when the ship goes funny

  you know, on the sea

  like the bed were a boat

  is that you?

  or is that me?

  because i lost my glasses

  like two summers ago

  and i can’t fucking see

  for shit

  i dream more about the desert now

  which is better

  less animals and sand traps

  less chance of civilization

  people like you

  and your friends

  so shallow

  when you die

  you will look the same

  like laughing rattling bones

  on pirate ships

  smiling like corpses

  surrounded in gold

  i fucking hate you

  your shallow madness

  anyway,

  i am almost home

  and my ship is flying steadily through the air

  tonight i am going to go find something to send me

  sixteen thousand times higher

  than air

  and look down on you

  as i die

  and laugh

  as i return to the part of the sun i am of my father Ra

  and wish doom upon the parts of you

  that destroy yourself

  your ability to heal

  or anyone

  and you will live again and again many times before you learn

  i can hardly see for the

  rays in my father’s

  cauldron

  so goodnight little one

  Every Time

  every time

  each tide

  each continental drift

  each and every time my house must move,

  my apartment,

  my whatever,

  for all the loose things in it

  i did not know

  until today

  one was you

  that they could move

  become displaced i knew

  but you

  or us

  in that brown shadow of a wall

  could go into the mellowing

  if it grew darker

  in time

  and left us yellow

  and like smoke

  in the room spinning out

  and upwards

  and into the draft

  and toward the places in the window

  where bigger things were kept out

  and people too kept out

  some people

  where smoke goes

  hurling into the safety of a wind

  outside

  this vaccum

  of home

  something dies

  every time

  Real Fucking Dreams Come True

  forget the sea that drug your body ashore

  and the murder

  if that is what you wish to imagine

  this heartache was

  because

  like s
omething in a dream

  this did not happen to you

  it happened with you

  and

  you don’t care

  you

  really don’t fucking care

  the

  champagne will be aboard a boat

  the streets will be made of cobblestone

  and

  the moon will be yours

  you will recover

  but

  when love takes the very thing from you

  that made you what you were before

  by fire must your bones alight

  and

  your soul should not return

  for true love

  is

  more

  more than the money’s worth

  and on good advices are the graces of the gods

  the seas are parted

  and

  the waves are long

  for

  the hunters

  when

  the innocent scream and theirs are the words of pain

  recognized

  by

  a fateful world

  with

  a merciful law

  of

  ebb and tide

  and

  for that

  any shore is too expensive for a loss

  when it could walk away and leave in dust

  nothing anyway

  and

  keep those others talking distracted anything

  but

  in the way

  of

  those here to concern the world again

  with laughter

  and

  real fucking dreams

  Sit Down

  when the house goes quiet

  and she stops

  you know

  moving around inside me

  i can see her

  smiling

  made of flesh and bone

  heavy as a jewel factory

  and bright inside

  and brick outside

  with lights

  lights on

  and the sound of typing

  endless and still

  moving through my head

  on the windowsill

  basking her in unneeded light

  we made it through

  summer

  winter

  not always night

  but we made it through

  to this

  this end

  when the bells crack

  and the door gives

  and all a man can do when he feels her go

  who doesn’t drink or die

  is sit down for a second

  and thank God

  she was born

  and cry

  too much night

  If I were as mean as I would like

  I would be small

  and

  your stolen bike

  I would

 

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