golf course and sky beam

paintball chase down episode magic feet forward mouse keeper sleep dream and do it again see who follows

not me this time

Photo by Rachel Broaddus.  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.

Chiaroscuro Romance

i am glad we broke the windows to save the walls.  

why are you looking at me funny orange smile temperature?

i am thankful that the birds are outside with the furniture and all the needy people's things.
here we can breath.
and make love.
and stretch out on the surface space.

     are you sure we're in the right place?

Photo by Rachel N Broaddus. Words by Dustin Whitehead.

(Good) Morning

Maybe the night of loud dreams and all the loud feelings would be gone.
I'd wake up lighter.

But the cave of my chest still echoed your hollow steps,
two beats with every thought of you.

I lay in bed, noticing the sky is darker
and thought the world was trying to match my mood.
It was just cloudy and the sun had begun its fight toward us.

I sat very still,
knowing that once my body moved I would have to pretend to let go of you.
I'd have to have a day.
With people.
With work.
With more than I wanted
and less you.
I didn't want to move.

I talked to the sky briefly.
“I can't do this.
You're going to have to open up a little bit if you want me to.
You're gonna have to tell me what to do
You're gonna have to promise me”

The sky shook its head
and clouds rolled closer together
like knit melting to coffee swirls of gray.
They wouldn't give up...
So I did.

The wood floor was cold on my feet.

Photo by Rachel N Broaddus.  Words by Jordan Lane Shappell.