you learn, my god do you learn!
from this the most brutal of teachers
that all of our backs are bent
from the weight of all our affections
spilled and spent just to fill our burdens
with all these little lies that
never did any harm until we began to believe

and ain't it heavy
to hold up your own head

so put your hand to the plow
and score your crooked rows into the earth
crack apart the stony ground
'til bone and sinew stretch and ache at
every expectation frustrated
and every weed choked seed that you have sown
fills you up with failure

and ain't it hard
to beat your own heart

so stand,
stand and face the sun
til it burns your blistered skin
and breaks away your burden
wreck, wreck your wretched heart
wreck all apart your broken heart
stand straight and face the sun again

then broken bodies groan, and graves
split open when breath breathed into ashes
breaks all the slumbering children
free from death and dust
and seeds sown sprout and
stretch their fragile limbs in praise
burdens break and roll away
like stones from tombs at break of day!

and ain't it something
to die to live

and ain't it something
how you were never alive until you began to die

i can smell the japanese magnolia flowers from here
but i cannot see you

oh how i love you

you are goliath and i
i only have these small stones
i looked in the water
and there were many stones
large and strong ones
that could surely bring you down to me
but i could not carry them back to you
because i am small and you
you are far away
and they would have driven me into the ground

so i chose the small stones
because they were worn down and small like me
so i knew they would fly true to you
and i could carry them

the japanese magnolia blossoms have fallen
they became too beautiful for their branches to bear
the weight of their own sweetness made them fall
so they are replaced
by the softer shoots of spring leaves
that stay tied to twigs because
they are too fragile to let go

and you, and i, and goliath, and these stones
are felled and made true
because we are weak
replaced by something that can bear us

i cannot smell the japanese magnolias anymore
but i can see you

oh how i love you

a spoonful of sugar will make your heart race
and just as much hope will break it
because before we knew we wandered bare through the garden
but now we've tasted and we know, and hope there's more than hope

what once was sweetness on our tongues now tastes tart
with the salt and bitterness and tears spent
on sounds not made for whispering but for moving hard past lips
that burn from backfiring words

made happy and then sad
made malleable like seeds and bread
first tossed out and left to die in shallow rows of dirt
then sprout, reborn watered and grown just to be cut down
and ground into dust
pressed thin to be cut again into usable shapes
only to be thrown into the fire!
but you'll rise again
all the little dreams we used to fight to keep
and sleep lost dreaming we would wake up different
only to hear him say 'i don't want the things you're doing
darling i want you-

and i'd take your dreams but they're much too small you see
when i said i wanted you to be like me i also said i love you.
dear i'd dry your eyes but when they blur with tears it's just a reminder
you once were blind but now you see

but you'll rise again
damn right you'll rise again
you'll rise again
damn right you'll rise again

what do all these buildings mean?
each brick
each wall
they all stand for something.
am i standing up for nothing?
these structures stand solemn
while i sleep on the shore of this lake
with soil in my shoes and
despair
impairing my ability to breathe
turns out sunsets aren't enough
sometimes it seems
there's just a few words between
king of the hill
and
easy kill
sometimes you end
up
facedown
in the sand
or take a chance to find out
if you hold fingers in a hand
or lack of a plan
something worth the risk
or convenience store romance
i've been wrong so many times that it's hard to believe
blinded by this bitter heart
over the water
heavy over my head
now hear this
don't you care that i'm dying?
please separate your head from the pillow
can you hear
over my storming
save me.

my reflection in a teapot
wrapped and warped and wider than it should be
his reflection in the rearview eyes set towards dc
and he's moved before but each time i miss him more

little light bulbs reflected through tiny glass beads
there's a little of this light reflected in you and me
when we grew up drifting apart
when the further you moved the more you occupy my heart

there's smoke in the air there's carpet on these chairs
a hookah hose snakes between my toes that point towards capitol hill
exhaust pipe drops hot condensation on the turnpike
tires turn your face to your destination

lungs fill and exhale in lonely exasperation
to say 'what moves you to move away?
what couldn't you find here, what stinging in your ears?'
playing phone tag with opportunity, but she never called me back

i'll see you for the holidays
i'll see you later

one of these days we'll all stop moving away
one of these day's we won't say goodbye, we won't need to cry
but not out of refusal to stain our faces,
oh brother, we won't have to cry
and we won't be reflections, we won't look in mirrors, cause' we'll all face the same way
higher than the washington monument, above all our tears and fearful impoverishment
oh brother, we won't have to cry- oh brother, we won't have to cry
oh brother, we won't have to cry
oh brother, oh brother, we won't have to cry

i've been writing in color.



there are a couple of old folks standing on the side of the highway crying.
surrounded by long cars, blue hearts, and black clothes, they hold onto each other with a desperation of being so anchored to one another they would surely be cast off the spinning world if they let go. in avoidance of careening into lonely, suffocating space, they have dashed themselves each upon the rock that is the other.

/-/

the streetlight outside my hosue won't stay on. or off. it flares to yellow life, ignites white, then dies a cool blue death every thirty seconds.
perhaps it is my heart; imprisoned in an indecisive incandescent glass case. raised so high on my sleeve that it illuminates my footsteps.

how it tears me apart to think you might not finish what you started
might not make her feel your earth shake beneath her feet
make her brush move in strokes that she can't speak
her blue eyes are just to small if she won't let you open them to the enormity of us all
to see how ugly she would be if she's all alone
or how she could define beauty if you looked like you

don't let her take another step on steady legs, step in her direction
she's not going to stop until she feels the pain of your affection
oh Jesus break a leg, break a leg
if that's what it takes to rescue her
cause i hope she can't walk without your shoulder beneath her

everyone's going out with girls with short hair, she cut hers and i said i didn't care
but i hope it grows back pretty as before
i hope she comes out hopeful as a newborn
seven thousand miles isn't so far as the differences in who we are
drew her a leaf, drew her a baobab flower
cause we're so prone to wander, so afraid to embrace our reckless mutual lover

open wider wild kaleidoscope eyes, prone to wander, prone to dream alone
see how his love pursues you, how he loves you more than the ninety-nine on steady legs

oh Jesus break a leg, break a leg
don't let her take another step on steady legs, step in her direction
she's not going to stop until she feels the pain of your affection
oh Jesus break a leg, break a leg,
if that's what it takes
cause i hope she can't walk without your shoulder beneath her

texture study 2, originally uploaded by mrpittman.

and i'll be the first to cross every line you've drawn
last to admit that i've done anything wrong
scared to move because i always hit something
i hit walls, hit the roof, hit the blank spots in my head
but all the stupid things i have to say
they all skip town when you come around

i'll keep my mouth shut because i don't want to spook you
and i'll keep my heart shut because i'm searching for excuses
like 'i've been hurt before' and 'everything i touch just falls apart
when the truth is i'm just scared to touch
porcelain, glass, and questions i could never ask

were i some sleeping adam, to wake and find you resting at my rib, to share these things that God has done, to walk you through the garden, to council your steps, your bewildered eye, your heart so slow to love, so careful to love- that i stepped up my aim and became a man. though He made you from my rib, it is you who is making me, humbling me, destroying me, and in doing so, revealing Him.

wake up new york
we'll drive five thousand awkward miles
we'll drive until we find your smile

east coast on parade
it's pretty out the window
but beauty in the passenger seat

i came knocking at your door
came throwing rocks at your window
i come kicking down the door now
i come with your smile

sleep tight savannah
wake up more beautiful
always more beautiful

2.
picture of us
far away form home
you shoulder's on mine
but your heads the other way
its a perfect picture
of the way you stand today

so don't sing
because it breaks my heart
to hear your voice
if your not singing about me
and dont pose for my photographs
if you're going to look at him tonight
don't drive me across the country
if you left my heart in tallahassee

we've seen the whole east coast
but the only thing worth packing for
is the thing that hurts me most
i'd rather have you breaking my heart
than have it wholly to myself

jolly jo's child care is down the street from my house. it lists over on a hill in midtown, servicing the low end of the income scale, people who need to leave their kids somewhere while they shuffle carts at publix. there is a pair of plastic "f-14 tomcat" bouncy seats in the yard, allowing the children to indulge in fantasies of shooting down early 90's iranian jets during the gulf war. there is also a punching bag. i have never seen any children there, but i imagine there are a number of very tough pre-schoolers that spend their days 'going to the mattresses' and sitting in the plastic jets making explosion sounds with their mouths as they fight to maintain america's interests in the middle east.

before the sun faded the paint on the playground equipment, before we all grew up, children played there while i made my own playdough at a church that saw 8,000 people on most sundays. this church has indoor playground equipment and an arsenal of slip-n-slides that were rolled out once a month to allow the middle class baptist kids of florida to enjoy themselves amidst the cacophony of bruised knees and hose water.

i think the kids is midtown needed the punching bags more than they needed air conditioning and regularly maintained play equipment. while i was listening to threats of "we can call your father" these kids were getting a head start education in the heartache of being alive. they took out their frustration on a punching bag, i ate my own playdough. and while no one ever hit me and i saw my father on a regular basis, they knew far more about life than i did. at that point i probably could not have handled the knowledge they were acquiring, but it makes me wonder exactly how much you can shelter a child before you start to harm him.

said that girl is gonna ruin you
and i only hoped you would
now i guess i'm spoiled
looking for a colorful girl
in a black and white world
what about that other girl
she's pretty when she's wasted
and tonight she's pretty wasted
but she's back in the hallway
making out with strangers

all my life i have been sitting here, heart in my throat, eyes open, waiting for the return of innocence and the arrival of love.

and love passed by. i felt its grace by my side and its head on my shoulder. i found that it would not fill me. i am just a little paper cup filled with all the wrong things and burst at the seams, unable to be full of anything.

but i have tasted its flavor and watched in horror as it ran through me, searching for something to take hold of, but finding only tears in the seams.

all my life i will be sitting here, heart in my throat, eyes open, waiting to return to innocence and for the return of love.

all my life i have been sitting here, hands shaking, legs pacing, mind spinning-- waiting for the advent of hope and the courage to open my eyes.

i am just a pinwheel. twirling frantically and lopsided, all flashes of color and illusions of motion. always in motion but never arriving, toes dug into the ground.

and i saw hope but it spun me around. comfort came on the wind and filled my paper sails, fleeting, deceptive, turning me upside down. upside down, praying to be righted but not knowing which way to turn with eyes closed.


don't leave me sitting here all my life, mind spinning, legs pacing, hands shaking... waiting for the advent hope and mustering up the courage to open my eyes.

all my life i have been sitting here, pretending that i am strong, keeping my chin up, buckling under the weight of my own uncertainty.

i am light in spite of the crushing uncertainty, it is not enough to anchor me. i am just a discarded receipt tossed around in the wind. a faded slip of paper, telling stories of once being valuable, once being attached to a name. now spent and useless,
littering the ground, i am crumpled and dreaming of the days before i was only a remnant of a transaction between two people.

all my life, sitting here. all my life with my chin up and my heart buckling... pretending.

you've heard what they say about loving and losing
but it tastes like whiskey and pills coming back up
i've never felt like less of a man
nothing in my stomach but a fifth
nothing in my blood but expired narcotics
so this is how jesus must feel
when i love him as much as she loves me

i hope he had a glass of lakeridge winery sunblush the night he died. i hope he had several glasses and didn't feel alone and scared when his heart failed as he slept on the couch last night. he talked about lakeridge winery like it was the promised land. i never tasted the sunblush but i hear it is very nice. one night when i was at his house after i was old enough to drink (legally), he asked me to choose a wine to drink and i picked the sunblush. he went into the kitchen to pour some for each of us and came back 10 minutes later with two glasses of white wine. i didn't care for it, but i pretended that it was awesome because i could see how much he wanted me to enjoy it. and so we sat in his office, decorated with fragments of computers and rally race trophies and discussed regrets and futures.

my grandad lived his life. sometimes he seemed self-indulgent, sometimes he seemed like one of those men who never grew out of thier fascination with cars and gadgets... i can't deny that he did spend a lot of money on himself. but it wasn't about indulging himself, it was about enjoying things. his enjoyment was all the greater when he could share in it with other people. he truly loved to give things to me. we loved to struggle with out cameras and tripods as we trapsed around central florida in search of the next adventure, not really caring if that was breakfast at nana's, lunch at palace pizza, dinner at the terrace, of flying over florida in an open cockpit bi-plane.

last time i was with him he booked us a 15 minute flight in a reconstructed bi-plane. we put on snoopy caps and aviator goggles, signed our lives away, and climbed in. the pilot was a tall man whose confidence floated back to the passengers as he taxied down the runway and into the sky. we circled lakes and million dollar homes, getting lessons in aerodynamics and perspective as we skimmed over the tiny interstate. we left the world for 15 minutes, we detached oursleves from gas prices and worry. i think that how we felt during that brief stint in the air is how he probably feels now. i don't think he has regrets. my grandad failed many, many times. he struggled with wine and women, with temper, and with pride. sometimes he was not a very good father to my mother or husband to my grandmother. i envy him. he has the only thing i want, he is with jesus. the glimmering gates have swung wide and he is innocent again. his pride and ex-wives are gone, his sin is gone, his pain is gone, but his jesus is still there.

when i was 8 you nailed my bike to the wall of the utility room. you were angry because you tried to teach me how to ride and i fell. i didn't care at all about being able to ride a two-wheeler. beneath the skinned knees and the skid marks, i cared about being able to learn from you, to do something you wanted me to do. i wasn't able to, i fell and i fell and i fell. fell onto the asphalt and you nailed my little black bicycle to the wall. and with it you crucified my heart. four years later i got a new bike and i learned to ride it the same day, my brother taught me. and even though the little black bike had long been taken down off the wall, my heart was still there. maybe when we moved away from that house it stayed behind, i don't really know. we got a new house but i still didn't have a home, because home is where the heart is. i don't know where home is, i don't know where my heart is, perhaps you still have it.
i think i've lost you. or did you lose me? no one has ever loved me as much as you have loved me. and no one has ever hurt me really, except you, because i love you. no one has broken my heart, made me feel as mean and callous and indebted as you. i don't know what i owe you, aside from my rent. in the back of my mind, i have always hoped that maybe with a little more work on the house, with better grades, with cleaner dishes, that you would be proud. i don't want your help or your pity, i don't want you to pay off my debt, i want you to love me. 21 years trying to earn your love and now i'm tired. you have brought me up the best you could and brought out the worst in me. you taught me what it feels like to be completely alone. i only ever ran from you to see of you would chase after me-- if you would welcome me home when i came home. all i want is to come home and be welcomed back as the prodigal, to have you say that you don't care about the past because now i am home. i want to have a home.
i have fallen again, fallen in love. i am trying to love a girl. she is beautiful and loved and she has a home. but i am terrified of letting her love me because i know i will have to take the chance that she will give me a new heart. last time i had a heart i didn't work out so well. so now i can ride a bike but i am not sure i can love. and everytime i fall the failure takes far more from me than the layer of skin i left on our old driveway. now i know why they call it falling in love, because it is exactly like falling. you have no control and it is completely terrifying, and the whole time you are worried about what might happen when you stop falling, when you hit. the fear of falling doesn't stop anyone, it's the fear of hitting something that you can't get past. i am not sure i can get past myself.
i fell for you the way you fell for me the day i was born. you were god to me, strong, commanding, you had a thick black moustache. i am learning about god, but i half believe that when i get to heaven he will have played football for the navy and been voted orlando's hottest bachelor in the 70's. i hope He is just like you, because, disregarding all the reasons, resentment, and fear, i still love you, and even though i don't know why or see the evidence as i would like, i know we are awfully in love.