From in Here

I've never been here but in day dreams.
I feel small to the sounds of the street
and the quite clink or dishes inside here.
I've sat with pen pointed at paper
and little ink eeked out.
The waitress smiled at me kindly, nodding along the way,
not having a clue why I've spent the last five hours in her restaurant.
I'm not sure either, honestly,
but I've been inwardly (deeply) hoping
that my fingers would lay guide to my brain
and take away my imagination,
set if afloat on the sky and the voices of the people walking by.
But all Ive got is notes on my hoped recovery
and the idea of plane tickets.

From inside here, in my thoughts,
looking out on the movement, the next things to my day,
I don't know anymore.
I'm going to move forward,
with the clink of my thoughts,
and I don't know anymore,
don't know what I am supposed to do
or why.

Photo by Amanda Grupp.  Words by Jordan Shappell.

Swimming

 Which one was it hand puppet master thief.  I remember a song sang by mermaids which never could breathe under water.  The harsh realities of life.  I love Chicago summer internships.  I love birds flying high and then shitting on their own time.  Like night clerks.  Watch out falling hard helmet yellow neon.  It wasn't even night.  It could have been a Saturday but I had no compass.  Thanks for the moon landing and family and smelly flowers of both hues.  I knew a sailor named Bart and I'll stop before I lie at the bottom of the ocean... 

Here we are.  Can you breathe.  Bubble.  Bubble.  Sepia futures and pastures full of sea cows.  I make metaphors out of no shows and honest men hobos.  Unfair of me.  I'm bragging.  

DANCE

My favorite command.

Sketch by Christian Barron.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

where i sometimes go for comfort and courage

whisper sweet green enthusiasm 

from your naive youth 

i know you mean it 

i know you want the best for me 

for us all 

sweet 

sweet 

boy

i know your heart will remember the toy trains and the laughter and the snow

Photo by Angela in Kansas.  Words by Dustin in Singapore.

that space

i cherish that space 

between what I remember 

what i now live

and what i want

it's distant 

but feels close 

like a zoom lens

intimate 

it hovers

watches me 

takes care of me

holds me

that space

it is vast 

it speaks to me as i walk

as i wander

as i dream

it holds my hand

lights my path 

consumes my heart 

fights for me

as i look out 

into the paths of my future

i see only answers

only hope and possibility

only space

 

Photo by Sadie in Paris.  Words by Dustin is Singapore.

we put up a bridge

we put up a bridge

remember . neckshouldersandback . until it stopped mattering
drive your car
stick your sticker

get political during politic season

what about the snow and the redwood trees and the birthday night blues

what about families and theatre and cheap good Mexican food

what about God

we used to build our neighbors houses

Photo by Carl Lindberg.  Words by Dustin Whitehead.

Cold Nights

Cold nights are holy to me.
There is a clarity to the sting of my cheeks
and the sight of my breath.
I keep my eyes open long enough
that tears find themselves built, swelled,
and fall on their own decision.
I only feel the sadness after they've created themselves.

And if no one is around I speak out loud:
“Where are you? What are you doing?”
I'll try not to listen to music,
but wait for the whispers of a distant city
to tell me something new about myself.
Give me a revelation that will set me to bed
and strive me for more the next morning.

It's on spare nights like these
that I set out to cut through the layers of my day
and my fear
and hope to answer who I am.
I get real quiet. I stand real still.
I watch my breath wisp in front of me
to know I'm still capable of life.
And I feel my chest pinch stress and release blood.
And the tears come because I haven't blinked in 6 minutes.
And my face is warm. And I feel cold.
And I still don't know anything more.

Photo by Rachel Broaddus.  Words by Jordan Lane Shappell.