us [poem]

i live in a place that i call home
not a physical place, but still a world to roam
too much that i’ve hoarded and kept out of fear
always, automatically, like a turning gear

the tour begins in a dark grayish space
into enternity, lighter gray grid lines race
yellow cockpit in the center
into the ever-expanding row of chairs i can enter if i want to drive, i shall, i must —
i place my hands on the dashboard with trust.
though this is the main room, full of beginnings,
it is mostly devoid of belongings

next is the room for when one is afraid
providing a place to concentrate
i might go here to contemplate
here, you will always receive good aid
perfect black is the background here,
with a patch of green in a smear
and a beam of light in golden yellow
warm like a forgotten hello

now here’s a place where you might share
a snack of thoughts and words of care
red-pink couch and off-white wall,
across the table you might bounce a ball.
call this a rec room if you like
explore so far you could call it a hike
it’s not quite finished, with tables half-painted,
and maybe with its curator you may soon become acquainted.

now the dark that stretches on forever
a quiet, secluded home for the clever
if you can figure out exactly how to get in, you’ll know where i end but yet begin.

in no particular area do the following lie,
but they exist, so away from the pre-planned course we’ll fly
follow right by, so you don’t come apart
in here you might find you and where you start

your possessions might be mixed in with the things i’ve lost
ready? here it is, and listen for the cost:

dozens of friendships i’ve made and broken
the price for this is a special token,
which maybe you’ll find somewhere in the pile
don’t go looking or expect to find it for a while

smiles and grins from unnamed strangers
who passed by without knowing that they were world-changers

the taste of the sweet air from the grassy path
which you might only hear of as a telepath
near my old apartment from years ago,
where my best friend lived in the floor below

the painful words i haven’t forgotten,
some as old as kindergarten

lies little and big i have yet to regret
someday they might bring a debt
when? maybe i’ll never know
always be left wondering only for it to never show

video tapes that make me sad
some might make me think i’m mad

an audio recording of a poorly-sung verse,
taken by a phone stuck into a purse,
the first renditions of some silly songs
maybe one day they’ll ring out like the thrum of gongs

where will this go? i don’t know
you can’t expect to be sure
of what the future will secure

have you seen a piece of yourself yet?
if you have, pick up something to get.
perhaps, your long-lost videocasette?
just remember — don’t forget.