Trevor Abes: Writer

Tag: poems

Hale

Everything is Personal

There’s nothing personal about people 

Gatekeeping their lives

Even if you cried at their weddings

Looked after their cats

Shared meals at their tables

Because everything is personal

Like looking with your eyes

And sleeping when you’re tired

Axioms 

It’s what is called a universal lever

A free option you can call in

Soon as you find the strength to do yourself the favour

A lunch tray with aluminum and styrofoam in a quarter-full food court with a city view enhancing the podcast I’m listening to about teasing out patterns I don’t know I’m following

Turnaround

You don’t always have to choose the thinnest paperback

You can fan yourself out and play in caves where shadows don’t obfuscate the exit

You can see them again and prefer to save the effort of pushing through the crowd

Let the dog ears settle before you’re comfortable

With someone kissing on your mind again

The exchange rate from blinders to uninhibited senses is always favourable

Call that commitment instead

No more being stunned like cattle, the drive of genius displaced on people

Who will find the fine print in ride or die when it’s convenient

 

The View Between Your Fingers

I could tell 

All I’d get

Was the foyer of you 

Just kicks

Took each other home like reference only volumes

To maybe feel moved enough by something

To want more of it

Light particles changing costumes

Two verses translated as DNA

Holy water from a pipette

Applied with any style of prim

To feel rosy with a scientist’s trust in empirical evidence

Tops in time-capsule technology

Poetry with other consumable options

Besides quiet splendor 

Like ingestible glow 

Wearable sonorousness

Portable perspective

Draped over our particular frequencies 

Of being in the world

 

You Owe It All To Yourself

 

Respite

—Liked what you read? Grab a book.

Moving On

When the broken glass of life

Scrapes dead weight from parts of you

You still treasure, gathering the slivers

Is a short path to hypersensitivity 

As opposed to applauding the poetry

Of how long you’ve had your head down

Letting the unfairness nestle

Into the corners of your smile

And bloom into the tender sweetness of a heart

Whose open arms proved insufficient 

The music in your hips newly sprung by bae’s absence

Her face in every woman’s face regardless of age

Stop trying to stop seeing her everywhere

Stop beating yourself up for finding yourself asking

What do you mean what do I mean by love?

Years into thinking the answer was set in stone

Just steep in it and get familiar with how you are 

Too much food to finish for basically everyone

Until someone comes along happy to wrap you up

And save you for delectable exploratory unravelling

Which, for the record, is the opposite of cutting back

To compromise on the tenant between your eyes

—Liked what you read? Grab a book.

Just be Sure

 

The Answer to Dancing is Yes

Everyone has something substantially wrong with them

At brunch, overcast, maybe you decide to say yes

To the adventurous and inadvisable

Further feeding your little infatuation problem

Superimposing your imaginings of things onto real things

Hoping to chisel your vision into actuality

Unmodulated by platitudes and spared the need for gurgled battle cries

 

Then there they are, in your bed

Having just ridden the subway together

From that show with the description that read good enough to attend

 

They say, I watch the news for my safety

You say, I’ve been told goals should be small

Numerous and directionless

To still have life left in them when you run

Out of original mid-life crises

 

You both hold beliefs that would scare the other

Into a different person

But your limbs and ideologies bend

In the same agreeable way

Which is close enough

When what is absent is a game

Whether you memorize an ending

Or you’re your own accomplice

And call it a new beginning

 

You say, so long as I get to flex my perspective

In seemingly insignificant ways, like

How I stock the fridge for midnight ruminations

Gash ice cream with a melon scoop

Knife a pillow to keep certain memories intact

They say, I don’t need confirmation of your desire

To exercise your right to know yourself

If it involves damaging me

I’m prepared for it to happen

Arteest

Leading myself on’s got the old animal instincts shot

But ruminating til your stomach turns inside out

Not really knowing where you’re going is what R&D is

This is why sugar generates sense when shit goes to hell

And death and mindlessness fess up to being family 

When Wipeout or Floor is Lava is on

My latest chance at self-expansion, tarnished 

By a lack of dabbling in evil, disguised

As fun that wouldn’t have been any fun

It helps me heal to think

On a path with space that means I’m independent

Or afraid of refreshing my email every 10 minutes

To see if I get what I want

Playing clairvoyant only if I think I know what you believe

Whether or not you hinge on it to stand out from your chosen throng

To suggest purpose + minimal reverence for inevitabilities 

That can’t be made to wait for rest

Slightly Less Terrible

Digging without treasure doesn’t make sense

There is no moment between yesterday and today

It just keeps going

When I said I hated the incense

And you still let me smoke a cigarette inside because it was cold

I didn’t have the lenses to intuit the presence of preciousness 

When you quit drinking and neglected to call me for a month

And I didn’t give you any shit about it

You mistook my devotion for a sign of low self-esteem

Despite the park sunburns, laundromat ruminations

Elaborate budget-salad meal prep

And diminishing shame for the buoyancy 

Of Burgundy and brie on brioche afternoons

The universe still failed to smarten up to us

To how we stood against going TV test-patterned 

Late at night to clean ourselves of the gunk of the day

Because it gave us something to control and accumulate

When $11.25 an hour felt like a blessing

Even though it made us unfathomable in our critical awareness

As if we were owed interest on our anguish

When that’s just not how fixed income works

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