Brent Pruitt :: Artist

i just made the messiest sandwich humanly possible. and it’s fucking tasty.

you slip outside
the yellow room
into darkness
step down grey stairs —
the key tucked
inside the breast pocket
of your olive sweater
stuck like a pill
in the back
of your throat

you leave
your brother
be-bopping on his headphones
leave your parents
with cocked brows

tonight you are
in the countryside
i am in the city
outdoors at the coffeehouse

i look up at the sky
see the clouds milky white
glowing by the moon
to wonder if you see
the same shapes
i see

my ears ring
with the chatter
of conversations
traffic
clinks of cups
and rustles of newspapers
i reach deep in my pocket
to pull out my watch
— 10:15

your hands move
from your elbows
to your shoulders
the crickets and frogs
court comfort sounds
that talk you away
to another place

with your feet
anchored in the soil
your hip feels exposed
to the wet grass
that you stand upon
and your head
sails miles away
caught in a breeze

it took years for
these stars
to be grouped
and named
into masses

you slide through
the dark syrup
chin pressed upward
arms spread open
only to notice
how high you’ve traveled

Andromeda
her 7 sisters
bruise your shoulder
the treetops
like grass
clasp your ankles

you feel yourself
teetering
tangled in heavy branches
of the trees below

you lose your breath
and clench your teeth
bracing
for the imminent decent
to cold earth

my watch has stopped
— 10:58 —
or perhaps
some time later

i collect my bag
stand and slide
the plastic chair
over dark concrete
and i look up

look up
at the sky
see the milky clouds
and imagine the shapes
that i would see
and know you are not alone

—Brent Pruitt

i love you lana dyer. 

i’m not really sure what i’m going to do without you. 

17 years, my very best friend, my confidant and partner in crime. you were so often my muse and true guide. you have been my family and filled a great void. 

i think of you, or say your name, and i can only feel the love we shared. your love had no bounds. you astound and amaze me. such warm affection fills my heart. i love your brilliant wit and mischievous grin. our -psychic- psychotic connection has never failed.

you always stood by my side, though the physical distance was great. these many years, we shared so many laughs, shed quite a few tears — and laughed so hard we cried even more. instant best friends. forever. 

you won the hard battle to cure me of my late-night cross-country texts. we’ve shared more than our quota of pet pics with the net. our strange spoiled monkeys. you survived the new year’s eve of all new year’s eve, though i killed your taste for tequila. you would reluctantly concede our one-up matches to not bruise my ever sensitive ego. you emerged victorious over the bird-bat-sock darting from the closet. you rescued jack, and many others. with me bloodied in the emergency room, you watched the doctor check me for a fractured skull, the same night you introduced me to your love, fritz. 

you stood by me so often.

i was to see you in three weeks, share a room with you in wheeler, sit in the red chairs made for us, to watch the milky way paint the sky and touch a very specific ocean. it was to be your 39th birthday. i was so looking forward to your visit, as i know you were in coming. 

shock. denial. anger. sadness. love. i will try to concentrate on the love. 

i love you lana dyer. i love you.

june 17, 1974 – may 25, 2013