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

My Distraction Caller

My Distraction Caller


On the couch
the elevator doors open,
I can hear them through the flimsy wood.


Silence and the light tap on the door.


Looking up and then behind me out the window
I scurry to get some pants on;
I've been too lazy with myself
and too proactive with my occupation
that I look the poor but promising wanderer part.


The light tap again
and I pause.


I just wanted to be alone tonight
but what are friends for
but to keep you company
and your mind off things.


We'll play the games
and bitch the bitch
and laugh about the things
about the people closest to us.


And when you're gone
I'll go back to my spot
look out the window
and then continue my search again.


-Matthew Koutzun

The Fall

The Fall


I'm walking the streets again at midnight.
Not in the same fashion as before.


I'm leaving friends in the night
and not sneaking around with some amore.


The fallen leaves remind me of the times spent outside of apartments
and in cramped closet bedrooms on a tiny mattress
that we cramped and comfortably jigsawed onto.


I'm walking the streets again at midnight alone
Not in the same fashion as before.


I have bags in my hands instead of yours
and they bite in with weight instead of levity.


The lamps don't light the night enough
and I'm drowning in headphones
playing the moodiest stuff I can to hold onto a feeling.


I'm entering the apartment I keep letting go
because I'm losing the notion that I really have to keep it neat for someone.


I stay up online searching for something
although I never know what it is.


The bed is large and looming
the sheets scattered and sloppy 
from heat and window cold


I'm sleeping again
glad to be in the night and away from it.


I'm walking the streets again
kidding myself we find these things twice.


-Matthew Koutzun

Tiny Bull

Tiny Bull


Tiny bull
rampaging and striking the walls.
Locking horns
and grunting smoke
from nostrils
cartoonish
and boorish at best-


Let's dance.


I've cape
and donned the garb
and my manhood
pressed securely
in obscene sight
will only drive you madder
for all your conservativeness-


Let's brawl.


Dart forward-
I'll lunge.
Move quick-
I'll snake quicker.


Tiny bull
destroying mecca
I'll tie your ankles
and pin you down
and leave you here
to rot-


Let's dine.


Your meats too tough
we've left you now
victor spoils
and fan fare
and forgotten games-


We've played.


So tiny
not worth it
I have bigger bulls
to conquer-


I'm gone.


-Matthew Koutzun

Donning the Beast -or- Honouring the Monster and the Horror

Donning the Beast
-or-
Honouring the Monster and the Horror


The wolf is restless in me.
It wants manifestation.
It wants the mask to be donned
And for me to stalk the woods
to touch myself and others
and rip into the encounters
and darkness that it wants to remember
and let alone.


It was captured
and tamed and tasted blood again
oh tasted and revived
and hunts the forest like a tramp
sprawled and naked
tethered and released
and reaching- aching
for the meat it eats.


Oh the bones are showing
and the meal could be done
but not till the marrow is dust
and everything is striped.


Oh wolf in me,
run wild, run free
and say the vulgar
and the sweet
and the nectar that summons.
And lay in wait.
It will come,
Let us wait.
Prey will come.


-Matthew Koutzun

My Run on Thoughts of You

My Run on Thoughts of You

Fuck I still love you.
Though everyone says not to.
You live across an ocean but even the dates I've been on I sabotage because I think that if you were to know I'd lose any future with you.


I wake to a bed
and hide the pillow cases that smell of you
so that they aren't mistakenly put in the wash when parents come to visit so I have some constant of the things I gave back to you to "forget".


I thought of keeping them
so you'd come back
but I can't be selfish with your time nor your freedom you seeked thousands of miles away filled with experience and new adventure.


I don't want no hard feelings
nor you to have bad feelings from this.
But I long for the support you gave me and the support that I can't find from the people around me and the comfort of knowing you said things to save me.


I- I- I-
and I focus on me again.
Come back and let me be selfish again.
Let me be selfish and take some of your time.
Both of our youth can be combined to make an adult decision here.


I thought I was an adult
but I'm not and I wish you would tell me I am.
But my buts are confusing me as the contradictions are probably now confusing you so please stay but write so I have something to hold onto since you've blocked me on each path to you through texts, calls, and instant messengers- I hold no hard feelings for it, except that I miss you're words and hope you still feel something for mine, and that they don't lure you back here, but make you happy that you can still hold a place in this heart of mine that never can take you out no matter what people say and the pillow i keep to feel another beside me since I cannot sabotage it's affections that I substitute for yours not in desperation but in memory and dream- dream- dream- dream- and run on trains of thought.


Goodnight,
I sleep now
to search the night.
Eyes closed-
mind awake,
windows open
doors locked
and always welcomed.


-Matthew Koutzun

Damn Metaphorical Box Metaphors

Damn Metaphorical Box Metaphors


Trapped in a metaphorical box
is worse than the mime that made it
but it's not imaginary
nor is the claustrophobia it creates
of it's lack of support
or crushing walls of being able to see an outside world
that one cannot touch with invisible bounds.


Walls made with time and change
and hands that press up and brush against them 
to finally see what was forming around
and colliding and expanding
and coming in again
to press on the face and make you face
the lack of support
the bottom of the box has.


Bottomless box
of walls that we support ourselves with
holding ourselves up and losing strength
and faith
that maybe the bottom is the escape in the safety of what the box keeps us from.


Deception and inception of the thoughts you've given
how I hate the indecision and the decisions we can't make in political correctness.


If I had it my way
it would be a bandaid
ripped off and tossed away
and now onto another 
but the transition could be a long time 
before finding the new crutch.


I'm too young to be trapped
in something going nowhere and just for money
when I should be growing and learning.


I won't go down in flames or dramatics.


Just a small letter
and a leap somewhere else.


A leap anywhere.


Even down.


To the bottom that will eventually be there.


Because bottoms are never bottomless in these boxes
and to end is to begin again or so they've said.


So they've said.


But they've said that before
and I'm around in circles again.


Box,
I'm seeing past you.


I'm seeing nail and grain.


And I'm escaping.
I'm slowly leaving.
I'm creeping out so you won't notice.
But I do.
And you will soon.
When you need another.
And you realize you forced me out.
Oh I don't get paid enough for this.


-Matthew Koutzun