On Being Depressed

living a full life anyway
means knowing that when I love
I'll sometimes feel like dying
but opening my heart nonetheless

living a full life anyway
means dragging myself through inertia
just to get showered and dressed
and then putting on lipstick, goddammit

living a full life anyway
means sometimes being the jackass
who took on very little
but found it too much and bails out

living a full life anyway
means sleeping in my car some nights
because climbing the stairs to the apartment is bullshit
after my daily energy has run dry

living a full life anyway
means needing others
in a deeply exposing way
and feeling unworthy of their help

living a full life anyway
means sitting in meditation
not for tranquility
but for survival

living a full life anyway
means taking it personally
every time a friend or stranger
dies of the same disease

living a full life anyway
means knowing this may kill me
but deciding to fight hard
with teeth bared in defiance

living a full life anyway
means always fearing
that I've built a house of cards
that will topple as it's done before

living a full life anyway
means decorating those cards while I have them
placing them with care
and screaming into the wind
"Come fuck with me. I'm ready."

A Devotional

a bucket of flowers on the grimy floor
blossoms straining apart
as though polarized against their fellows
each one already dead
the days of budding have passed
a vanishing ode to summer

she knows where she put the summer
she drags the bucket across floor
this year she's let go as the days have passed
and the hours have easily coalesced and come apart
an insect falls from a petal, dead
an infinity away from its garden fellows

she doesn't notice the insect, doesn't consider its fellows
just opens the door to admit an inch more summer
and observes the surreality of not being dead
most things that ever lived have already hit the floor
their atoms have drifted apart
and what they became has likewise passed

for her 29 years have passed
each day gathering behind her with its fellows
present and past cleaving the world apart
flowers and insects flit through this summer
as she sweeps the dirt from the floor
each moment, once lived, drops dead

now that she's used to the dead
she doesn't regret what's passed
or focus on anything but mopping the floor
just as later she'll focus on one of her fellows
a lover whose lips are made of summer
who tears preoccupations apart

finished, she pulls a flower apart
its flesh feeling anything but dead
these colorful slices of summer
carry the light and wind that passed
growing them and their fellows
the petals land on the newly-cleaned floor

her bare feet kiss the petals, the floor
footprints joining their fellows
leading away from what has passed