Evan LaBrant's Blog

July 5, 2017, 2:08 pm
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I’ve spent my time describing the height of waves but never the depth of the ocean beneath me. Crests and valleys have captured my words and thoughts, and I have ignored the fathoms of love below. Every song, every poem, every journal entry about romance relied on the ebb and flow of love’s tides. My journeys into romance have depended on the wind to whip up waves and provide the current for my love. All the while, underneath my frail skiff has been a vastness I could never truly plumb. I know now that love is as deep as the man or woman that draws from it. That bedrock bottoms are cut out during the formation of soul and mind. We underestimate the depths contained inside a human being, question our own ability to draw deeply from within ourselves. Can I love enough? Can I love myself enough? But time has continued to teach me that the answer is a resounding YES.

I’ve grown tired of the waves at times, and most likely focusing exclusively on them has detracted from the depth of love I’ve been given and tried to give. There is something so powerful in the heated moments, the dark moments, the moments of extreme doubt, to quietly look down and feel the gravity of miles below. To hold a loved one in the turmoil and draw up from deep within a love that cares not what the waves are screaming, or what the wind howls. To draw up love from the depths reminds us that we are not merely subject to whatever life throws our way, or whichever way the universe leads our paths. To draw up love from within reminds us that we are enough, for ourselves and for each other.


October 28, 2016, 4:48 pm
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We grope around in the dark searching for the light to our path, but we forgot to strike the match and turn on the gas. So we keep on groping and hoping to find our way amongst the weeds and trees that never seem to clear. I guess I’ve been waiting for the sun to rise on us, the sky to shine bright and blue with wisps of clouds like the spun sugar dreams we’ve feasted upon. 

I admit it: I lost the light inside. It dims down low now and then, like a dry wick when the kerosine is gone. You’ve watched me fight the fade, struggle with the waning. Because I want to wax! I want to burn bright and hot, with fire that cannot be held within a single soul. A flame that licks the edge of the creatures I encounter and sets their hearts alight. 

You are one of those cosmic creatures I’ve encountered. You’ve felt the singe and hugged the heat. When you were weak I stood fast within myself and held my hand to you saying, “You are enough. I am enough. We are enough.” 

Forgive me, lovely human. I have faltered within myself, and my hand has swayed as I catch my own fall. It’s still there, extended toward you, hoping to embrace your fingers and your soul. 

under the anvil
June 14, 2016, 10:51 pm
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We dance around the hammer

Frolick under the anvil

Knowing that when it falls

The delicate web we’ve made

might catch it in miraculous fashion

Or the weave, unfinished 

might give way, shred

and leave the path untouched

toward bottom crashing end


And so we dance with light feet,

soft words, and soft eyes

Gently humming precious melodies,

quietly embracing hushed subtleties 

To say with care what iron clashing would shout 

To play or dare that which words would clout

Letter 2.
May 31, 2016, 7:46 am
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Never in my life have I felt more longing than in those silent pauses, the moments when we search for strings to tug inside our hearts. Never have I felt more sure that I could find some other inane question to fill space, never less sure that it would work. Never before has the inane escaped my judgement, and passed into the substantial. Never once before have I wished so much to know plans, routines, sundry tasks.

List them for me. Tell me every tiny detail in finest resolution. I won’t remember, I swear; I’m not wired for it. But as you speak, and in the telling, I am blessed with words from the sweetest mouth and kindest eyes my own have ever laid upon. Eyes like magnets for mine, a pair of north that my south cannot escape.

Do you feel that, too? The stretching space-time when our pupils align. It’s as if two stars that never met were always meant to orbit each other, spiraling closer as eons pass and galaxies fade into chaos. All eternity is contained in those fleeting moments. All of the tragedies in your wet, green-eyed tears; all of the happiest songs and joyous reunions in your beautiful, upturned lips. How could all of human empathy rest upon one wrinkled brow? For, when you listen and scowl at my misfortunes, generations embrace me. A thousand thousand years of kind eyes greet me, and gently say, “You are safe.”

May 17, 2016, 4:39 am
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I’m sorry I fell for you.

You, unaware and unassuming, perfectly cute with floral blouse and unfettered breasts; me, lost boy searching the stars for answers to questions God never bothered to reply. My eyes caught your form from my crouch on the curb, where long drags from a cigarette increased my pulse. Or was it your approach? Who knows, it doesn’t matter, really. I feigned nonchalance while you stooped to pet Sir Pounce-a-lot, his black and white torso arched beneath your fingers. It was true then as it is now, when I said, “I never do this, but…” It’s my sole pickup line, because it is only always true. I never do that, but I did. And you said yes to the spontaneous request.

I’m sorry I fell for you.

You, hiding nerves behind sharp blue eyes and a skipping step; me, joyfully observing you from two feet away, loving every laugh and every hint of British from your tongue. I still miss that, by the way, that soft giggle and that sudden outburst of belly laughter. What I wouldn’t give to hear you say “strenth” once more. We sat through awkward pauses while beer glasses tried to out-sweat our nerves; those awkward pauses gave me pause, but I embraced them for once in my life as we stared deer-eyed at each other.

I’m sorry I fell for you.

You, swaying arms in the breeze like a glider or bird, whichever is more graceful; me, joining you in quiet gratitude for the chance to air my nervous perspiration. You insisted on a hug goodnight, and I gladly obliged. Hugs are far too few these days, and yours was a wondrous thing. With a number scrawled on napkin in hand, I strolled away, unsure of my intentions. I tucked that napkin away for three weeks, three weeks another woman held me back while she figured out her love for another man. Had I known, I don’t know what exactly. But had I known what would become, she would have figured it out without me.

I’m sorry I fell for you.

You, an innocent bystander in a story you never saw coming; me, too soon ready to commingle lives and loves and lips. It’s not your fault, not mine either. Maybe it’s mine. It’s no one’s really. You just happened to stumble in when all the stars I queried aligned, and my heart opened like a night-blooming cereus in the warm evening air.

you rose, and
August 27, 2015, 6:42 am
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As you rose, and I beheld
through blurred eyes
a golden vision,
bathed in golden fusion
Daylight, the hues just right
500 seconds in preparation for descendance
and this incandescence can’t even touch
the transcendent
nature of your glow
Eight point four minutes
these photons fought in emptiness
waves interfering and particles dueling
for the slim probability to kiss
your freckles
or the space between

And I fought no photons
No, I bathed in their diffusion
drank deep through eyes wide open
laying here, just hoping
I wouldn’t awake from this dream

But alas, you return
and eyes, supplanted by
superficial nerve endings
shut with a sigh
a deep exhalation: satisfaction
eyes closed, every nerve primed to fire
Like a blind man, sensations taken higher
Skin on skin, seventeen thousand-ths
of a second for these pulses to pass my brain stem
and backtrack to the chest where
butterflies, thus bombarded, take flight

to keep. And take.
August 8, 2015, 4:15 am
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Would you be poor with me?
Make love on the bedroom floor with me?
Just a mattress on the ground, no sheets to be found
I wanna see your chest heave
see your breath leave, fill the room
my lungs, my ears
I breath out, now you in, and we trade
Share the room, share the air

I’ve got nothing to give, everything to lose
Heart twisted and mangled by the things I choose
to hold onto
I try to forgive and forget
I’m not that man, not anymore
But Satan’s still chasing my soul
Screaming and throwing rocks into this gaping hole
I’ve got deep in my chest
And I scream back,
“You don’t own me, don’t hold me,
don’t know me! Get behind me!”

Would you be poor with me?
Chase the endless stars for endless nights and drink

You see, I’ve got nothing to give
everything to keep
And take. And taste.
Wanna taste your inside,
taste your soul
taste your whole being, head to toe
Taste and drink and have to keep
But what to give?
What to trade?
Is this an exchange?!
God knows I’m broke as hell

You say I’ll never be enough, and that’s my freedom
that’s the reason; My God that sounds sweet
I can’t say I’ve been given that choice:
to be less than enough and more than my most
Be a man, be a boy, wrapped up in Holy Ghost
To be tested and tried, purified in fire
like silver or gold, heart aflame
God above, stirring furiously this crucible

never enough, and yet already more

Would you be poor with me?
Make love in the winter cold with me?
Wrapped up warm and tight;
two bodies, one flesh find warmth and light

Would you be poor with me?
Make love on the bedroom floor with me?
Children of God unabashedly naked and unashamed
in the daylight
Drink, drink, drinking
deep from the well of life: love

If I have nothing to give, everything to take
would you lean in?
Or turn away?