always sick
always in pain
they told you not to fret
as you hunched yourself over the oxygen tank.
“that lump on your chest is worth its weight in gold.”
you play with your breasts.
those photos online impressed your friends.
days spill over to weeks on end.
you don’t know how many more of your lies you can spin.
//jf 7.8.2020
i prowl methodically,
judicious in my seeing
but there has to be days when you just let it go.
where you just be.
and you communicate
in that old imitable way that our youth betrays.
i hope youre okay
and that your hair still hangs,
with eyes that stare through the bangs.
the tears would well up in your face
when we talked about how we loved
betrothed and entwined
through our own slippery grasp of experience combined.
just the slightest bit of skin is like a beacon,
beckoning for reason.
so when the unreasonable becomes your cure,
please dont lose my number.
//jf 6.13.2020
isolation with my lover is a dogfight of disposition.
who can get to the tv first?
i imagine a future with no internet
and being lost on the couch in her world.
why dont we do something,
anything else?
im too tired for anything else, she cries,
making sure the neighbors hear who is in charge.
i imagine a future with no electricity
and she is lost in the covers of her own despondent world.
why dont we do something,
anything else?
im too depressed for anything else, she moans
making sure to spread her piteousness
on the burnt, black toast of my indifference.
i imagine a future where she is gone
and the lights inside are permanently dimmed
and i am sitting outside by myself in the quiet of natures dawn.
i am reading.
soon ill be reeling.
i would rather have someone than no one.
//jf 6.10.2020
beneath a muted dutch overcast,
the blackout curtains over the studio window are drawn.
she leans on her side, naked,
flanked by messy cream sheets,
her hard brown eyes fixed toward the maze of streets.
he could ask her anything.
he wanted to know how she wanted to get fucked.
when i shut my eyes at night
and allow my mind to wander,
sometimes
if the mood is right
i can still make out the space between his eyes,
their shape
their size
hes all but forgotten, otherwise.
the fleeting moments of love still remain
but theres nothing else to gain
by recalling his frame and the bones in his waist.
ive willed myself to forget his lips,
but their smokey taste still sits.
the way he ignored me through sleepless nights
the fights
the light that grew in his solitude
the tears that drew in his bleakest gloom.
the bedroom is an empty void with a new lover by my side.
but yours is the ghost that looms,
so in the earliest mornings when i wake and see his face,
if he looks back too
through the haze i see you.
//jf 5.6.2020
theory of a daskeman 