How The News Got Out About my Surgery Last Summer
These blue eyes will
never be blue again-
Now they’re rust-red,
drugs and anger and
I subscribed to the
news for a monthly
fee - It cost me my
best parts, parts that
One more time you can
hold my clammy hand.
But these hands will never
be unsure again.
Have you ever seen
that curtain, held open
by the ignorant? Behind
it is a surgeon with a
tremor, waiting with
some scissors. The
cure left a crooked
scar, an embarrassing
part of every summer.
this is a poem I wrote about a really, really cold girl and a boy who wanted her to get better.
nick orsini, formerly readattheshow
AdorkableLife is not a blog. What I put here, while some of it is deeply personal, most is universal and based on truths and realities we all see and feel every day. I’ve tried to limit my personal thoughts on this site to when people ask me things or when I’m feeling something I can’t quite write a verse about. Even then, I save most of those things for Thought Catalog. More often, I talk to somebody. Now I’m talking to you.
I want to tell you a story.
a cold transplant performed in an outdated kitchen.
I fell in love with a girl I could not keep warm.
No matter how I tried, all five-foot-five of me
could not keep out the cold. There are saviors
in books, then there are boys who can’t drive
stick. When you need one, you get the opposite.
Hand-in-freezing-hand, lips pushed on freezing
lips, I would dig to hell for the favor of warming
the blood under my skin. If I could just boil and
evaporate, I would matter in every state - best
of all, she could finally feel me on her face.
There is a line to be saved, a line and a list,
same as it is when you’re waiting for a pig
heart to be transplanted. The animal within
those survivors is how I saw her at the end.
She just needs one new organ and she will
ignite like a cheap burner- slowly at first, then
the rest with my lighter. But I can’t drive her
to that clinic; I myself am just too sick.
Nine Hundred Pages About a King.
I got some new followers on here. Here’s a poem, which is how this blog started, how it continues, and how it will never die. Follow me.
There is a book called The History
of Fridays with a foreword by green
strings on my knockoff Flying-V -
with a dedication to the Whole Foods
buffet. It is nine-hundred pages,
an epic tale of nothing, nowhere kings.
There are people born protagonists,
and footnotes we pretend don’t exist
because paragraphs should be perfect-
devoid of numbers in superscript.
We were just kids, PA’s in Yonkers,
pushing shopping carts full of our
best years. We went up the food
chain because we were starving -
and when no one clips your nails,
they’re best used for climbing. At
the end, every open-window refrain
that you sang and I played, is the
background music to conversations
I wish we were having. The History of
Fridays ends differently than it starts. Hold
on loyal reader. Hold on and have heart.
Coffee Filter Broke so I Brewed my Brains Instead
Monday Night Raw and Guardians of the Galaxy and Joyce Manor and Comic Con panel cell-phone footage and fantasy football and Real Friends and TNA iMPACT and Ring of Honor and my dog and my broken phone and my hot office and my Sharknado office calendar and wash and fold on a Monday and beef jerky from upstate and Steve Jobs and Steve Globs and the marijuana industry.
There was a United Artists theater that closed and they put all the seats by the curb. Now I watch movies in authentic movie seats that I bolted to my floor and my back is always hurting.
There was a wash and fold that closed. They gave all their best customers wafers at Christmas time. Tins and tins and tins of wafers were in a dumpster by the curb. Nothing can eat chocolate without hurting other than people, just ask the stray dogs.
Adoption day and Modest Mouse and when will Game of Thrones be finished and another top-10 on the internet with any editing and spending all my money versus saving all my money. I want to have enough to do both.
Loving Before I Knew Anything About Love
We played Mastodon against muted Nintendo-
The breakdowns were green shells I shot
from Wario to Donkey Kong. Your hair spread
on my sheets as you counted how many
years is too many to be married. I told you
just enough if we hurry. A horror movie of
a suburb, with an Elm street and a lake,
was all we had waiting. I’ve got these
dreams where I’m stronger, and I break
apart Pangaea with a guitar riff and my
voice, both never stop getting louder.
And it’s a coincidence that the resulting
continents, countries and states have
our backyards touching instead of being
a 10-day vacation away. Coming-of-age
is a concept to make that phase okay.
If he can do it and sing about it, I can
probably do the same. And I think of
you flying through a thunderstorm or
boarding a train. Mirror Mode made
you dizzy, but we still beat the game.
I was tired of watching her carry
so much, so I lent my back to help-
And I never felt a thing so heavy
as the life she was living. My
legs were strong from running and
my back was straight from good
genes. “Let it go” she told once
we’d crossed, and I couldn’t
because it was too much for
just one of us. So we walked-
and pieces fell off on the side
of the road. Soon it was light
enough for us to stand up.
And she looked at the sun and
the sky and her green eyes met
dirty brown eyes - two thankful
spines seeing for the first time.
Just take my hand.
I’ll put the flashers on -
Yes I know it’s late
for pedestrians to walk
across The George
I’m already pulled over-
and the Civic barely
made it so let it count
for something. Thank
you for saving me and
for the last year, it’s been
the best one of my life.
You see all these cables,
all these lights? I used to
think of men building this-
You know 12 of them
died? I get romantic
about architecture- how
it exists for you and I,
even in the crowded
moments - this city is
crowded all the time.
This is where I first
felt… driving across
the lower level, not
sure if you remember.
You said you found it
amazing, in the face of
forever- which is just the
length of a playlist, we
get these moments
in love better than
any author can capture-
the 3am Hudson River
and how your wrist feels
after the lights go off in
a movie theater.
Hey! Ive gotten quite a few new followers in the last few days. I’m Nick! That’s Jack the dog (my rescue pup). We’re in the Poconos hanging out in nature and making silly faces at each other. I’m a writer from Queens, NY by way of my home in Northern New Jersey. You can check out my work at:
I’m heading to an early screening of Dawn of the Planet of the Apes tonight courtesy of my main Wednesday hookup, Midtown Comics.
Thanks for following the blog, liking the poems. My new book The Mega is currently in its second edit and I hope to have it in bookstores and online so so soon! So many exciting things to roll out with that book. Stay tuned!