The Escape

The Escape


From inside my chest
I've made the daring escape
and running on raised pavement
I am heads above the packed crowd
my arms stretched out like an airplane
playing duck duck goose on peoples heads
them maddening and chasing me around pillars
and the maypole rising from the cold asphalt
it's a revolution from my heart and hand
and making it's way to my lips
in a curved smile upward
as I calm back down
and walk again
happy I am
content
again.


-Matthew Koutzun

Blue

Blue


Oh dear lord;
he's going through his blue phase again.
Painting up a storm 
on the page with words and themes
we're hearing week after week.


Get on with it
and pull the trigger next to your head,
because we're sick,
and we're tired of the complaining
and we're just calling it quits on you.


Sure it's beautiful
but one can only take so much of it.
And it's had it's time
but its dried out in the sun.
No water will bring the sucker back.


So try some red-
or purple, or magenta, or green.
Just anything but blue
and we'll come back and see.
Refreshed with the fresh.


-Matthew Koutzun

The Next Time

The Next Time


The next time we meet
we're just going to start making out.
No more pleasantries or the awkward moments
before this.


We're gonna start from the present
and move past before and then.
And take off our clothes
without saying a word.


Because we're getting old-
and I'm finding that sometimes there is no
next time.


So lets agree to it.
Shake hands on it.
Whip it out
the next time we speak about it.


Cause the minute hand
moves mountains-
and me?
I'm making moves.


-Matthew Koutzun

gatekeeper/fire starter/place keeper/explorer

gatekeeper

                     This used to be a feeling of love

Now it’s just sadly in reverse.

So now I’m gonna put it to memory

And to picture

And find what it was.

I’m gonna put it away

till the one with the key comes back

                                                                 Gatekeeper

gatekeeper/fire starter                  

                    You keep threatening to lose the key

That you’re forcefully forgetting

Setting fire to the box I put the albums

And thoughts away in

Burning bridges to places

I wanted to return to

When the grass became green again.

Little passion fighter

                                       Fire starter

fire starter/place keeper

                    Lighting the house

And burning it down

I can’t find my way back to it

I’m lost in the trees.

You uprooted sign posts

And changed all the paths.

I tried learning new ways back

But now there’s only one

                                             Place keeper

place Keeper/explorer

                     Bookmarked and chaptered

And lost to a fire and in woods

Now I create more

And keep rekindling fires

With bits and string of passion.

I don’t mind

It’s keeping me warm and busy

While I carry it like a torch through the woods

Searching like you

                                  Explorer

explorer

                        Don’t run and hide

Like you’ve done.

I’m not searching for you

I have my own exploring to do

And the deep caves echo of you

But I’m going deeper within

And finding things always there

And foundations stronger than rock.

-Matthew Koutzun

Jars

Jars


Momma says I shouldn't blame myself for butterflies leaving.
She says they go their ways because they have to-
because life is too short for any one thing not to grow.


But Momma never lived in the jar.


The butterflies all go,
from my stomach and out my mouth
where words should have been.


But those things are in the jar.


Butterflies don't live well locked up
never spoken of
and hidden in closets away from Momma.


I should have opened the jar sooner.


So when Momma says I shouldn't blame myself for butterflies leaving-
I do.
Because life is too short for me not to live with them too.


Open jar- hovering closely.


-Matthew Koutzun


for L.

For my Appreciation;

For my Appreciation;


Today
I thought would be different.
Everything was under
different circumstances.
It's the first time
I've truly been alone
on my birthday so far.


I had to work today.
I'm still in training
so I had to go.
I wanted to go
because I'm confident
in this decision
and they even sang the song
brining a slight red
to my face.
I try to hide it
so well.


I had a package
stuffed through my mail slot.
Gifts from parents
and one from my brother.
I cut it open.
Carefully.
Not to slice
perhaps if there were
cards inside.
There were.
And I kept my eyes shut
because I wanted to read them
first
before looking
at the unwrapped
gifts.


And tonight
a friend baked a cake
and we'll gather
at her place.
Sing the song.
Play the games.
Maybe open something.
Maybe.
But I'm not
gonna build
my self
up.


No
we only
hurt
our selves
that way.


Each birthday
I've ever had
has felt this way.
I'm trying-
fumbling to explain.
But it's not caption-able
by the words I know.
It's a feeling of
vagueness,
ambivalence,
expectation,
and loss,
and bursts of fun,
and of attentiveness,
and listening,
and wandering,
and lingering,
and conversing,
and the list goes on
and I'm the
popular wallflower
not talking
but the centre of events.


But I'm learning to appreciate it.
Without you.
To appreciate what I have
without you.
And although it makes me well
up
and burst with tears
at the thought
I'm learning to deal with this callous behaviour.
It must be hard I know,
but you can only imagine
what you're sharp scissors did
just days before now.


Any other time
and we both know
I'd still be sad,
but thank you
I appreciate it days
before my birthday.


You have your cake now
eating it too.
I'm having a slice
and it still tastes sweet,
because roses are roses
even when dosed
with chocolate.


But I'm learning to appreciate
all those things before,
those things that sing
and converse,
and comment,
and post,
and smile,
and gift,
and laugh,
and still argue,
and get annoyed,
and set me straight,
and appreciate
me
like I'm learning to do so now
with them.


I don't call quits.
I never do.
So don't take it as a warning,
see it as my lesson.
I'm passing flying colours
blinding
exploding from white
from which it came.


Look at me.
I'm 24.


-Matthew Koutzun

The Dinner Getting Cold While We Wait

The Dinner Getting Cold While We Wait


A test of will is an online green.


Seeing your name lit up and having you so close and so far at once lights me up and over.


I don't know if you want me anymore.  I'm waiting for you come to me.  I've made plenty of moves and you've taken them kindly- but I've never seen you shuffle my way once.


It's my birthday soon and I wonder if you'll make a move then.  If I'll feel a foot slide beneath the table and tap my own.  Our own secret handshake.  Our own secret time.


People have told me to prepare for if you don't contact me.  To not be hurt.  But I will be.  And I've said it. And they know they can't say anything to change it.  And they don't.  You know how my mind and feelings get made up and stick.


But I'm leaving you there.  Green online light on and all.  I know I could click and send.  But then why would you feel the need to come when I come so easy?  Or are you waiting for me because you're testing your own will?  Is it pride?  Are you testing mine?  Or am I making up stories because my chest aches all the time and aches further still each time I wonder what wonderful day you're having now.


There is no test.  No will.  Because I'm kissing air and invisible versions of you.  One of them is bound to be real and satisfy one of these nights.


But till then I guess I'll wait for the hard tip of your toe to touch mine.  As we sit across from each other online.  Staring at bright green glows that invite.  But our wills and pride that say wait and hold tight- because perhaps we need space, to find and relate, but I think we should just be and open ourselves to see that starving ourselves just makes dinner cold.


-Matthew Koutzun