chinatown
by: jared greer

tourists, mooning
over dead ducks
hanging
in greasy windows
block sidewalks

cameras snap
snap snapping
in unison

a cook
in a white paper hat
squatting outside
lights a cigarette
and exhales menthol
smoke
into the crowd

at the top of the hill
a cable car disappears
around a corner
and it's just
an ordinary city
once more.

winter
by: jared greer

pristine white snow
cowers
under bleak
grey sky

wicked fingers
reach hungrily
from sickly
branches

animals burrow
beneath them
anyway
undeterred
by the unwelcoming stretch
of dark shadows

wind blows
the sun
comes and goes

things falter
and grow
strong again

for everything
turn, turn, turn
there is a season
turn, turn, turn

and eventually
all seasons
turn to heaven

dream in a blue raincoat
by: jared greer

when you're in the middle
of it
you don't notice

can't see beauty
in it:

a wide panorama
stretching out

a pale, tender girl
pressed
against a vast grey sky

trudging through
a barren field
in her blue raincoat

not weeping

the nuthouse
by: jared greer

sometimes
you just have to go back

stand in that room
smell that night
hear those sounds
and remember

it really wasn't
very interesting then
either

but the days
and years have
gone by
and you've
misremembered
the ones before
to make them
magical

as if they weren't
days just like these

days
that only brought you
closer
to the end

and
it won't be romantic
or tragically beautiful then
either

it'll just be over
and you'll finally rest

as if it were a saturday
and you were just
lying there

waiting
for the end
of everything

i look just like my mother
by: jared greer

(with all of our lost innocence)

there's a cruel comfort
that comes with the realization
that you'll never believe
in anything ever again

that any good thing
that ever happens to you
will have the added sweetness
of a pleasant surprise

she rises
by: jared greer

morning sun breaks
through bitter clouds
and sheds a little light
on a tiny puddle of hope
momentarily defeating
the darkness

untitled
by: jared greer

sometimes she feels like a dead girl
all cold
and useless
and wet

her heavy skin turns to dust
gradually
and some of it blows away

until she remembers
and is ashamed
that she isn't
dead at all

it's just that some parts
of her
don't manage to fit

she keeps banging into
all the wrong places
and slamming up against the parts
that aren't comforted
by the world

but she reminds herself:
this is just one house
among god's mansions

and although the rest
of them
aren't sure how
to belong to it either

they still attempt
to cradle each other's hearts
tenderly
as if they hadn't sold them
already

for my mother
by: jared greer

i am the daughter
of a daughter, we flounder
and gasp for breath

we struggle
and hold it against one another
when what is reckoned
outweighs the intent

but this is
mother and daughter
another kind
of sisterhood

expectations
no one
could live up to

no one would

we are
mother and daughter
women
sisters in spirit and longing

we flounder
we struggle and gasp
for breath

and we hurry
to grab hold
of the other's wings

before she flies off
on her own

the dreamer
by: jared greer

frequently i dream
of dilapidated houses,
porches buckle
under white snow

(sometimes my mother lives there)

many rooms fill the house
all sparsely furnished,
yellowed wallpaper peeling
and stairs that give up
halfway through
collapsing in a splintery slide
into darkness

freud was once there at the bottom
waiting to catch me
at least i think it was him -
older man, cigar, white hair and beard,
the glasses

i wanted to ask him
what it all meant,
the symbols, their representative
purpose

but suddenly he changed
into an elephant
and i was riding him
along the beach
as a great storm
was approaching

(waves crashed against condos)

another time it was my mother
down there in the dark
who was waiting to catch me
her arms stretched high
her open mouth: a gaping black hole
her eyes: wide, empty sockets
i screamed in this one
tried to claw my way back
up the slide

but suddenly it changed again
and i was sitting in a car
with the heater going
waiting for the windows to defrost,
watching the old farmhouse
crumble before me

winter leaves
by: jared greer

slowly, like leaves
they fell away

gathering together,
and lying there
silently at my feet

until i let out
a mournful sigh
and they blew away


incognito
by: jared greer

i'd like to call a time out
"do overs" if you will

i'd like to move
to a new place
with a new plan
and start this whole thing
over again

i'd like to be a stranger
in a strange land
where no one knows
where i come from

and everyone believes me
when i tell them
where i'm going.


grand illusions
by: jared greer

sometimes i think i should just up and move
start some better life somewhere else

that would show them

and then i wonder where i would go
and would anyone even care that i was gone


death/birth
by: jared greer

i feel like i've died
and given birth to a new
shoddier version of myself
too many times
for someone my age

sometimes i think it would be easier
to just give in
and let the dark gather round
and swallow me up

but this current version of me
who is intent on dying
and on
being born again
won't allow that luxury


breathrough
by: jared greer

the tears will nourish me
and i will grow
from this catastrophe
into something
exceptional
and beautiful


a night like tonight
by: jared greer

on this bright, clear night
the city twinkles and glows
blushes
at her own beauty


i need a moment
by: jared greer

i need a moment
to myself, please
a chance to gather
my thoughts
and put some distance
between me and doom

i need a moment
to myself, please
a chance to collect
my thoughts
and suspend disbelief
until i remember how to fly


her laughing
by: jared greer

i hear laughter
outside my window
and imagine it's her
down there giggling
grabbing your jacket
and pressing her face
to your chest

you kiss her forehead

i'm alone
when i exercise this way
imagining any laughter
out there as hers

and rage
against this darkness

until i stop
get up
to pour myself
another glass of wine


safe passage
by: jared greer

i remember
when we used to meet
for lunch

the time
we walked together
to the corner
as the light was changing

in a split second
we had to decide

i made a mad dash
threw all caution
to the wind
and ran like hell

i turned to you
breathlessly
but you were still back there

across the street
safely waiting
for the coast to clear;
for the green light
to give you the way

thinking back now
it seems obvious
that it would end
this way


untitled
by: jared greer

things didn't seem as bad
in the summertime

the long days
crowded out
the dark nights
which were warm enough
to remind me
that i was still alive

and that it was something
to be glad for


another giving tree
by: jared greer

i walked past a man on geary
who had a beer
in his hand at ten a.m.
and was having
a heart to heart
with a tree -
laughing

it was a genuine conversation
with conspiratorial winking
and back slapping
as if they were two
old friends
leaning up against a bar

instead of just a crazy old man
talking to a tree
on a random corner
in the city

onion skin
by: jared greer

like an onion
i reduce people
to tears
when i peel
myself back
to reveal
a more pungent
version
with each layer

what i reveal
is neither proud
nor lovely to behold
merely
and imperfect
organic pearl
in need of nurture,
tending

and sometimes that
is just too much to ask


city in grey
by: jared greer

rain slicked streets
tired masses huddled
in doorways
under awnings

hope washing down gutters
like so many
cigarette butts

and then refuge
for some
as the bus doors part
making way
for morning
commuters


reaping
by: jared greer

the world was
too small to
hold her

like a china
teacup overflowing
with bitterness
into a saucer full
of sad

hopeless voices
crashed around
in her head

continually

hissing "can't"
and "mustn't" and
"no good"

and so
she gave it all away
effortlessly

allowed herself
to relent
to the pull of gravity

to collapse
into grief
with quiet dignity

and the days stretched into weeks
stretched into months
stretched into lifetimes

as she broke apart
and fell into dust, dirt
the soil
from which she'd been sown.

the lunchroom
by: jared greer

even in august
with the kansas humidity
bearing down
the cafeteria still
gave off a chill

walking in alone
with my too short pants,
stained hand-me-down blouse,
and fresh new haircut
that made me look like a boy

i felt foolish and conspicuous
as i white knuckled my tray
and scanned the room
for a benign seat
in which to plant myself
imperceptibly

but it's impossible
for 'the new girl'
to go unnoticed
on the first day of school

looking around
at all the stony faces
eager to ignore me
lest i mistake
their curiosity
for friendship

and the knot of fear
replacing the hunger pangs
in my stomach
as i emptied my tray
into the garbage
and walked back out
to the silent playground

the last things
by: jared greer

what will be the last thing?
the very. last. thing.

the last song:
will it be one i love or one i hate?
will i play it for myself
or will i listen to it passively
on an elevator
or in the lobby of a hotel?

the last sight:
will it be splendid and lovely?
tragic and heartbreaking?
or will it be something commonplace,
like my hand reaching out
to turn off the lamp
before falling asleep?

the last touch:
will it be passionate and fierce?
warm and comforting?
or merely the hurried brush
of a stranger's arm
as they pass me by?

the last word:
something brilliant and inspiring?
bitter and angry?
loving and hopeful?
or nothing more meaningful
than a simple address
spoken quietly
to a cab driver?

and the last thought:
what will go through my mind
at that very last moment
before my very last breath
and what will it say
about me?

all those
last things.

and how they will
define me.

it depends on how you look at it
by: jared greer

one morning you're in the shower
considering how youth has abandoned you
how at 32 you'd expected to have accomplished
so much more by now
how it seems so many of your friends
your younger friends
have so much more to show for their years
than you

you're reflecting on how old you've become
while you were so busy not paying attention
how quickly the time has passed...
and then your hand carries the bar of soap
across your breast
the same as it does every morning
casually and carelessly

only this time you feel something
only this time you notice a tiny knot
something that could pass perhaps
for a lump?
like a tiny reminder crying out to you:
"but wait! it can't be. i'm still so young..."

dark whispers
by: jared greer

do you ever think of me
inappropriately?
do you ever long for me
in ways you'd be ashamed
for me to find out?

i've spent several cold nights
recently
with my hands in warm
dark places

and although i can't be sure
i could swear
i heard you
whispering to me...

untitled (2002)

my body deteriorates against my will
though vital eggs fall forth and spill
into yellowed toilets and sadder still
the senseless blood and birth control pill

untitled (2002)
by: jared greer

we were constantly
throwing "i love you's"
at one another
without meaning it

the words would just tumble
from our mouths
like so many slick pebbles
scattering at our feet

and each of us would gather them up
and sort them out
so we could carry
our heavy burden of expectations
collectively

ode to my favorite bike messenger boy (2002)
by: jared greer

there you were again today,
my unwashed angel
resting on the steps
surrounded by your similarly scruffy
contemporaries

today a clean white hat
crowned your smooth shaven head
replacing the sweaty red hat
of which i'm so fond

i thought i felt something when my bus passed
did you feel it too?

did our eyes meet briefly?
if only for one magical moment
did our souls manage to
fight their ways through
the crowds and smog and traffic
to find one another?

or am i just another psycho
stalker chick
obsessing
like psycho
stalker chicks
do?

cherish girl (2002)
by: jared greer

she was the prettiest girl
i barely knew
she looked like the movie star
i was in love with at the time

that night we drank until we had the courage
to reach for one another
without pretending
we didn't mean it

we laughed as if we never would again
and lost ourselves as if
we'd never be found
and we wouldn't have
if not for the sun breaking in on us

in the morning i was sorry
for the shower that would wash her
from my skin
the pattern of her mouth
from my body

and when we kissed goodbye
i was grateful for the part of her
that still smelled like me.

untitled
yes, there were times
i felt that way about you
and there have since been times
i've been willing
to feel that way about anyone

i've sought comfort
and prophecy
in the arms of strangers
i pretended were as meaningful
as you

yes, it's possible that i am a dreamer,
a romantic at heart,
but it's more likely
that i am just an idiot...

and i am filled with you (2002)
by: jared greer

i can't bring myself to pull away
from this bright flame beckoning me
or the dark eyes that expose the tender,
pinkest parts of me

as your hands move over my body and open me
to find my warm, moist delicacy

i am filled with you

your beauty fills my eyes
your warmth fills my heart
your breath fills my ears
your tongue fills my mouth
your fingers shamelessly fill
the rest of me

and i am filled with you...

copyright © 2001-2002 Jared Greer

untitled (2002)
by: jared greer

fragile...tender and moist
blind to all but this desire
beating against my breast

with my knees aching
as they part to welcome you
i feel the circuits in me breaking
disconnecting from everything before

except this desire

and i desire you
and i desire you
and i desire...

copyright © 2001-2002 Jared Greer

deep water of calm (2002)
by: jared greer

it's been a perilous journey
getting here
fraught with longing and feeble
attempts at making each one
the right one
when all along it could only
be you

your honesty and warmth
have enfolded me
in strong wings of refuge
and the struggles, the fear
of calamity
seems so far from this still
deep water of calm

how did i find you amidst
the crowds of confusion
and recognize the face i'd been
seeking to reflect the truth
of my being
and the voice to sing me
joyfully awake

copyright © 2001-2002 Jared Greer

ribbon of moonlight (2002)
by: jared greer

a silver ribbon of moonlight
has cascaded through my window
breaking the stillness
of the darkest night

where once the corners hid shadows and sorrow
now rests the sweetest light
and the vast, empty silence that held me
has at last filled with a hum of delight...

copyright © 2001-2002 Jared Greer

untitled (2002)
by: jared greer

you my darling, with all the love
i long to bestow and with all the
similarities i am proud we share
i know we fly in different flocks
we will never rest upon the same perch
and as sad as this makes me
i am comforted knowing
that we can both fly amongst others
and occassionally brush wings
with one another...

copyright © 2001-2002 Jared Greer

it's always about someone (2002)
by: jared greer

i feel so much but i can't seem to find words
that are worthy of your beauty

i've already used up all my $10 words
on lesser men

is it fair to say that i will never
love anyone this way again
and that the pain of missing you
will always linger?

does the fact that i've said this all before
diminish the truth behind these words
or the longing behind my eyes?

copyright © 2001-2002 Jared Greer