A dusted off collection of five poems spanning across 2019. 

Revised in May 2022.

be something.

(May 2019)

I

you say i can't handle pain in the right way.

i wonder how i've changed when everything's the same.

i take walks out in the rain just to feel the vain

of my affection—the bane of my mind.

II

i looked all over town following your sound.

caught in a runaround— dead 'fore i hit the ground.

i drove down to Clermont, ended up in Salt River,

with mud all around me—delivered to my ancestors.

III

if you really wanna know— i'm losing my soul.

to everything i know—and everything i don't.

there was a time when i knew how it would end;

but now i'm just trying to be something.

Every time it rains

(one morning in 2019)

Every time it rains, I hear myself say:

"I wish it would rain forever."

'Cause out my window I wanna see mist hover;

And see clouds cover the sun up.

I love all that

And found how to thrive in it long ago.

Though no amount of it has ever been enough.

No amount has ever been enough.

These days have got no rhythm!

(sometime in 2019)

These days have got no rhythm!

Just got no will to put much in 'em.

I think the world is in on it too—

Arthur what's been up with you?

You, who was I to start with?

Is self-love intrinsic or adopted?

All I know is I'm falling faster.

Can you hear it over the laughter?

Over the pretty words from Insta gurus?

The insights from the enneagram too?

It all got 'em spewing wisdom and truth,

While all I know is I'm losing you.

Different times, different places

(August 2019)

Different times, different places—

I can't really tell you what I was thinking.

Must have seen a mirage instead of an oasis.

'Cause now I just lay in this desert

Thinking I've lived here forever.

Guessing it was just different times, different places.

Must say, all this daylight hurts and kills my eyes.

Always been the nighttime where I can open 'em and see all that's inside.

'Cause if I close 'em I just re-see that entire ride.

When the sun was in my eyes the whole damn drive.

Seeing all those different times and different places.

Dreaming on different eyes, different faces.

Faces. I start to see so many now in just a day—

And I've been counting even more since I gone away.

In those long lines and large spaces.

Drinking cheap wines, praying fake graces.

All talking about these different times and different places—

All while knowing they ain't ever going back to that oasis.

Captain Cansado

(October 2019)

He soon grew tired of everything he once knew;

Everything he once loved through and through.

He grew tired of the never changing hue,

Grew tired of his crew.

Even grew tired of the sun and its daily rise just above the blue.

So he would rise just before it, go up top, and stand facing west;

Where the nighttime still stood- quiet and mysteriously expressed.

It was here he would think on all things that gave a mind unrest.

Every worst and every best. Every trough and every crest.

All while holding his breath.

But the light would push out the night, and he'd just go on 'bout his day;

Navigating a strait or talkin 'bout a girl he once knew from Marseille.

What was really on his mind, he'd never say.

Would just get glimpses when his psyche would start to sway:

He'd go all quiet, go up top again, and look out up the way.

Don't think the man ever knew what he was preparing himself for.

Just did what the heart desired, cause he didn't quite care for the future anymore.

And at that moment, he called my name— but before I could report, he had seen himself overboard.

Down into the waves, miles down, until he hit the floor.

Where it was quiet, and dark. But warm. Never to be bothered once more.