Solo



Goodbye man, is what

I want to say.

I love you, man is another.

I hope

we see each other again someday.

But none of these things are given voice because,

according to Jimmy, Robert left Cali on a tour three days ago, replanted himself like a palm in another distant land.





Leaving Chapel


I pull into the park and turn off the car sit with my windows down listening to the teasing sound of couples laughing, planning their futures.

It’s the loneliest, cruelest sound in the world.

How do I tell Chapel I’m leaving?

Maybe she will come.

Maybe she will break out of her parents’ prison?





Text Conversation


8:33 pm

Storm, where’s Chapel?

Did you text her?

I’m gonna head over.

8:33 pm

Yes. Come home first.

I need to talk with you.

8:34 pm

Why?

What’s up?

8:35 pm

Blade, come home, please.





I imagine


she jumps into my arms.

We kiss.

Our lips

like two special edition book covers keeping our secret story safe inside the history book of greatest loves.

I tell her I’m leaving, she insists she’s going with me.

And that we’re never coming back.

We’ll compose some deep cuts— flip the script— our B-side

in a place

that’s just ours.





I see


the lights still on

in Chapel’s bedroom window.

Why am I so nervous?

Her parents are at church. I know this because I called the church.

So who is that laughing around back?

I slowly

make my way around to the giggling and see

her silhouette in the dusk.

My girl

with—





Van DeWish


Tickling each other

in our hammock.

Locking lips.

This. Can’t.

Possibly. Be.

Happening.

They hear the fallen branch

snap under my feet

and look straight at me.

The cruel moon

decides to

make an appearance

right now,

right over the place

where we’ve made out.





Eight Legs and Fangs


Blade, what are you doing here?

Van falls out of the hammock, like I’ve done a million times before.

There are no words.

There is no breathing.

I wonder if my heart is even still beating.

Oh man, dude. Sorry, it’s just not your year.

We had a thing first. Remember?

I rush him.

Ready to finally knock his block off

like I shoulda done at the party.

Chill, man.

Chapel steps in front of me, sees my new tattoo.

A tear falls

from her face.

Dang, dude, that’s a dope tattoo, Van says.

I could die right here. Am I still alive?

I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you in person, Blade, but not this way. I know you’re upset.

He didn’t look upset when Cammie Wood had her tongue down his throat.

I look her in those blue eyes.

The deep blue sea.

I’m drowning.

Blade, say something, please, she says.

So I do.

You’re the spider.





Crying


Ever heard

the sound

of goodbye?

The way a door closes.

The way a deer looks.

The way a busted bird sings.

The ending of the world.

The wailing of

a hollowed heart.





You’re Excused


Saturday, late night

Holding him tight

Sunday, upset

Instant regret

I’m not gonna cry no more I’m just gonna laugh at all your tears I don’t have to try no more Might as well just write off all these years And while I’m at it

Can’t forget it

I got one more question, Boo Is it that easy . . . to get with you?

Princess weaving

Hero heaving

Wicked Chapel

Poisoned apple

I’m not gonna cry no more I’m just gonna laugh at all your tears I don’t have to try no more Might as well just write off all these years And while I’m at it Can’t forget it

I got one more question, Boo Is it that easy to get with you?

Monday, I said you looked fine and I lied Your hair was frizzy

Tuesday, your breath smelled so bad that I cried My eyes grew dizzy

Wednesday, I wondered if you were still mine Man, I was crazy

Thursday, I bought you those jeans so Divine And, girl, you played me I’m not gonna cry no more I’m just gonna laugh at all your tears I don’t have to try no more Might as well just write off all these years And while I’m at it

Can’t forget it

I got one more thing to say You’re the freakin’ spider.

? BLADE MORRISON





The heart


is a small

and lonesome place

she is a country

her eyes hold

the river

I used to swim

her skin,

the morning fruit

I touched and tasted

the heart is a small

and lonesome place

she is a country

I no longer live in.





I decide


I will not let her betrayal

or theirs

ruin one more day of my screwed-up life.

If Rutherford and Sunny hadn’t been musicians, they would have never met, or adopted me into this circus.

There would have been no encores.

If I hadn’t gotten drunk on love songs, I would have never fallen for her.

I’d still be singing, not bruised, tattooed, and tattered.

I take the cause of all this pain, lift it

over my head, and SLAM.

SLAM it

to the ground until it hurts.

Until it can’t hurt anymore.

I raise a hammer, SMASH up

what’s left

rip out all the strings, DESTROY

all the love

that was

once played.

I am done

with music,

rock & roll, and LA.

The End.





Shattered


You can’t destroy that guitar!

Watch me.

Blade, that’s that one Dad gave you. That’s a Van Halen Frankenstrat. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

I don’t care what it is, or who made it. It’s an anchor weighing down my life. It’s a curse.

She looks at the rage in my eyes and then she sees . . . my arm.

Oh no. What did you do?

Did you know? TELL ME!

. . . .

Why didn’t you tell me?

I tried to get you to come home so I could— I’m outta here. This place is rotten, and I can’t be in this stench one more second.

You’re not right. You shouldn’t go.

If I stay here, I’ll never be right.

Don’t do this, Blade!

I’ll see you, sis.

Can I take you to the airport?

No.

Wrong answer. Plus, I got your keys.





Storm and I stare


at the mangled masterpiece scattered across my room.

I can’t believe I destroyed

an Eddie Van Halen Frankenstrat.

Who does that?

I feel like Frankenstein has taken my monster of a life,

ripped out

all the empty parts: brain, spine, ticker.

What’s left?

And now

it’s up to me

to put myself back together, to rebuild.

To start from zero.

Storm grabs my hand.

I guess it had to happen, Blade. C’mon. Let’s go.





Leaving LA


I won’t miss

the Hollywood Hills, the palm trees, the fake city

and its manufactured lights.

I won’t miss the blood suckers, those paparazzi, and the tabloid news, shame because of my name, or even

those sunsets over Santa Monica Pier.

I won’t miss this pain that will never leave.

I won’t miss

the music under the trees or the feeling

of finding my own safe place to breathe.

And now, I won’t miss her.





Before Takeoff


You want me to park and walk you in?

Don’t waste your time.

Kwame Alexander, Mary Rand Hess's books