16
Feb
13

Java

There are times

When I miss

A past

That I can not have

Ever

Again.

Memories,

Like smoke rings,

Evaporate,

Yet linger-

Hanging slightly

In the air,

Faintly.

I don’t

Want

Them

Again,

But the time

And the ink stains

On my fingers,

And the words

Pouring out

Without

A wall

Or a filter.

Sitting

For days,

In smoked filled cafes,

With a fervent

Need

To scratch out

Words

To poorly capture

The moment

And the emotions

Of ideas

So much

Bigger

Than me

Or the moment-

Equally

As much

Fiction

As reality.

They

Can stay

In the past,

Them,

But give me

Those words

And smudged pages

Filled with words

And red wine

Or coffee stains.

Let them

Walk back

To their boyfriends

And husbands,

But give me back

Those pages

And passion,

Filled with the sounds

Of rushed

Scratches

Of a nib across a page,

And the clattering

Of coffee cups

In the background.

They can stay in the shadows,

Mocking me

And my desires,

I don’t want

Them

Anymore,

All I want

Is the moment

When they

Inspired me,

Gave me passion,

Made me feel

Alive

In my insecurities,

As I hunted

Endlessly

For the meaning

Of questions

I hadn’t thought

To ask.

Their shapes

And forms,

Even their names,

Barely linger anymore,

But the memory and feeling

Of that time

Is still so clear,

And hurts much more

Than anything

They

Ever said

On their way out

Of my life.

I can clearly remember the hiss and scream of the espresso machine in the background, Miles Davis playing in the cafe, the cigarette in my left hand, and the pen in my right hand- rushing hurriedly across the page, trying so hard to keep up with my mind.

They’re gone,

But the memories of the words

Remain and haunt me

Much more.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

February 16, 2013

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2 Responses to “Java”


  1. February 20, 2013 at 12:44 AM

    Love your writing! It is so raw and immediate. 🙂


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