Sunday, September 23, 2012

Draft of, Placement of Truth, from a future project tentatively titled, “Dampness”

Placement of Truth by Jasen Sousa



I placed my feet

inside a pair of sneakers without laces

as I stood on the edge

of a curb where unfamiliar faces ran

red lights and rode bicycles

with flat tires.  I searched for courage to ask

the Asian man inside the convenient store

who gingerly kneeled on a flattened box and stacked milk,

"How long before someone expires?


I placed my sunshine

inside an empty shoe box where it sat

on the bottom of a dusty closet floor

underneath clothes I have outgrown,

next to a box full of possessions

I could have owned:  My crush's number

on the back of a folded gas receipt and photos

of children I have yet to develop.


I placed my dreams

inside of a toilet that wouldn't stop running

next to a sink that dripped in sequence

with my sticky blinks.  Paint

on interior walls faded inside of a body that rejected

addiction, but was engaged

to lustful cravings.


I placed my air

inside an empty wallet next to invalid

library cards and bus passes from cities I knew

I would never visit again.  I folded it shut

until I wash ready to spend my time figuring out secrets

deeper than those kept by a teenage daughter

who memorized the lyrics to her father's unzipping.


An open window wind examined my 2-week-old beard

looking for the remnants of oil that came

off the fingertips of someone who understood.

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Early Draft: Eyes Down By Jasen Sousa

Early Draft: Eyes Down By Jasen Sousa

There is a woman
wearing a burgundy dress
who waits for me at the local tavern. The napkin
under her Gin and Tonic, damp as the unpaved space
behind her knees.

Denies requests to dance
as she can’t ignore movements on swollen
bottles behind the limping bartender.

Her phone sleeps on the counter, she waits
for it to pulsate like that feeling
that started inside of a thought and moved
in-between her wrist and forearm, like the vibrations
of bass that crawls down crowded walls and creates webs
amidst freshly painted toenails.

The tip is face down under the edge of the glass, the girl is eyes down
on the curb, waiting to be picked up
and dropped off into a world she is unfamiliar with.

I place the night into my back pocket
and sit on it.