A Parting Glass, Baby: Verses of Departure and Discovery

The moment was so existentialist.
I brought three apples, one for both of us, and one for the road.
If it comes up, I suppose we could split it,
undisclosed disposition,
hanging from the hammock ropes in the stitching.
There was hope for half-robed demolition,
a bungalow almost out of a dream,
quite a bit intensive, fictitious,
in the sense of paint peeling from white picket fences.
A strange feeling in front of the mowed lawn, in
between the solstice of summer and spring,
molded from the cumbersome explosions you’d bring.
Love, when she hands me her half-bitten apple,
as if it comes with an asterisk,
an ad-lib example of italics in the back of the index.
Take a bite out of the apple or take a bite out of me,
fall in love in the castle, fall in drown to the sounds of the sea.
Comparisons to the moon thought were drastically measured,
but I noticed high tide receded sunrise where my gravity centered,
upset. I bite my lips till blood spills in the battlefront mist,
not to inflict pain but deflect the traces of that dispassionate kiss.
Teeth marks turn into tattoos, covering the mistakes from the past,
the china vase that bloomed flowers but shattered, is only serrated as glass.
Lately, I feel sort of amazing, yet displaced and unreal,
unsanctioned, revealed, abated, idealistic adulation unveiled,
just waiting, unrelated, too anxious to seal the tiny indiscreet places unfilled.
Out on the rock, by the creek,
placing your hand on my cheek,
detached since forever, you help me make these connections I seek.
Never thought I’d be formal, but you make me feel normal, at least,
enthralled in coercion, your neglect changed me overall as a person.
Love was linear, so now I write love songs and sonnets in cursive,
despondent, subversive, a tire swing made from your ’91 Cherokee Jeep,
which showed me you still used parts from the past thrown away in the street,
connective to the stylus of the records through music created,
overuse of the grooves from the vinyl discarded my humanlike traits,
describing an incentive to twist, a sigh, and a scent of distress.
It’s funny and sad, I write to remind myself to remember to live.
If you’re reading this right now, I probably need to reevaluate my resolve,
dissolve in the Valium wake, retaliate from the maxims till I can barely walk,
I could barely talk. My adolescence consisted of wishing I died,
living without really having lived; now I don’t even think I’m alive.
Now even feeling a feeling is feeling contrived,
cause six feet seems like such a waste to shovel, just let the sediment dry.
Chesterfield smoke on Elmora and 5th, such a vivid annoyance,
beginning to fill my lungs with smoke that I’ve come to avoid.
Now I play the villain cause I just simply enjoy it.

Published by Cristian Leonardo Gajardo

Welcome to Cristian’s Cafe, a website where I showcase my various forms of expression and happiness. Here you can find poetry, podcasts, personal blogging, research articles, open mic, comedy, and art. Whether you are looking for inspiration, entertainment, or information, you will find something that suits your taste and mood. Enjoy browsing through my content and feel free to leave your comments and feedback. Please note that the Wi-Fi connection may be slow or unstable at times, so please be patient and look at the art instead. Thank you for visiting Cristian’s Cafe

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