Maz

it's a clear october night, one of the first
where the darkness sinks a cloak over your shoulders
before you were ready to go.
the air is cool on the skin, marks out your edges,
like holding you in.
maz is sitting at home --
been busy all week, like days in a spin of doors & chairs,
where barely in when bed-shower-coffee-clothes,
don't know where the time goes,
stare out the window as long as it takes for your eyes to catch up.
some face in the mirror, barely glimpsed and then gone in a flash --
got friends to meet, some bar to be,
got work & work & hit the gym,
got nights out with stories & tales
as big as you'll ever see.
maz hasn't stopped in weeks.

but tonight, as maz gets home,
the energy's gone.
sinks down to the couch.
nothing's wrong,
but maz sits back
& finally breathes out,
sips on a beer
that's been sitting here since last night,
picked up somewhere,
and maz thinks --

what happens if you stop before the day you stop?
all i can feel is a heavy cloth, pressing down
like weights upon my chest,
a draining kind of emptiness.

my pockets are all full of stones.
the only people i've ever known.
all jumbled, could never get them all in line.
i've got photos & scars but they're waterproof,
all surface & there's no getting in,
& there's shells in here & pieces of string,
that someone's been quietly collecting.

i've got people in my pockets, like little stones.
got heavy legs but can't go slow,
got marble & chalk & granite fine,
got to put them somewhere out of time.
can't stop to look, wish they weren't mine.

i've got people in my pockets, like little stones.
all these people have been using my name.
there's a fork in my tongue, a great crossroads.
somebody just tell me where to go.
there's more of us in here than i care to count,
there's barbed wire stuffed inside our mouth,
i've no idea what they would've said back then.
i've shed my skin,
i've bled them out,
i'm slowly replacing all of my cells.
i've watched the moon almost every night,
with what feel like almost the very same eyes,
but i don't know them & they don't know me,
& yet they're all i've ever been.

i've got people in my pockets, little stones
i've got too many people under my skin --
i've got to stop letting them in.
i thought i'd turned my back on you,
i thought i'd made myself anew,
i've been red-orange-yellow-green-two-toned-blue --
but there's traces stuck like hardened glue,
running between my muscles & bones
& i don't know if i should try to let them go,
or if they're part of what's holding me through.

i've glued myself together so many times --
i've stumbled & climbed after you, blind,
like folds of paper, fit to a shape,
that's half out-of-sight
but never will break.
well i wasn't born just yesterday.
i'm sitting here folding paper planes,
filling them up with little stones.
wish i could take them out & throw
them scattered somewhere
like leave me alone,
i'm tired of carrying you around,
i'm shattered, but when i stop running
is when i see you the most,
when you creep on out like little ghosts.

i've been red-orange-yellow-green-two-toned-blue.
i thought i'd turned my back on you.
i've got people in my pockets, little stones.
sometimes there's nowhere else to go.
sometimes i hold them up to the light,
as if up there they could testify
to what that life was like back then.
sometimes i spread them down on the ground,
stones like stars brought here to shine.
i stand there looking for joining lines,
a thread to stitch some meaning in,
like how things came from there to then,
but my thread is bare & i cannot sow.
i breathe in & taste something i know,
but taste is so hard to identify.
swirl it in my mouth like an ageing wine
til all i've got is the urge to swallow it down.
what happens if you stop before the day you stop?