Posts published in “Poems”

My mind thinks in spurts.
I wish it wouldn’t, but if it didn’t
it wouldn’t be the same;
I wish it wouldn’t, but if it didn’t
I wouldn’t know your name.

My mind thinks in spurts,
catches on a word, I wish it wouldn’t,
but if it didn’t, I wouldn’t be the same;
I wish it wouldn’t, but you know
I wouldn’t be here with you again.

My mind doesn’t work
uh– in the magical sense that
every other may; they
may see the roundabout, know there’s
a turn, but I stop in the middle and
admire the passers’ yearn for an outlet, anywhere,
anywhere to know the world is ahead and
I’m lost again, but that’s fine, yeah,
that’s just fine.

And I want you to know
I never knew your name
until you told me; I
never knew you existed
until the day I woke up,
rolled over,
and you weren’t there, beside.

i am a terarist. i am a n/o/et. i believe we have
come too far in history
to be anything other than
peaceful;
reserved;
allowing for the
alternations of other nations, the
availability of respectability.
we are who we are
because we’ve come here,
we’ve lasted as long as we have;
and what are we if fighting for
nothing; more than peace, we need
brotherhood, sisterhood, a
humanity.

i have a problem with words.
us, we use them, we throw them
away, hold onto what they meant
but keep going as though they
were never said; or maybe we
hold on to the thought and watch
as it slowly falls from view, a
sort of leaf and we’re caught in canopy

the lighthearted reality of not saying much is that, when you do say something at all, you’re generally expected to be profound, or to resonate a sense of worth within your words, when you may very well just want to be funny.

there is this tree,
towering, living
to be as shaded
reservoir of wind,
the subtle/nestled
shadow’s kin,
a warmth inverted,
deepened to the nerve
and thru, toward
skin’s
other layer, and
this tree,
holding,
lowering
itself
to me, holds
me up
and lets me
lie here,
a transparent,
meshed follower
of what
wind
may
grow.

when walking,
carpet/
rice/
pebbles/trees/roots/
leaves/limbs/body/
grasses/mud/ground/
dirt/beetles/ants/worms/
are all, directly,
from you treated.

i try to sabotage
everything
so you,
perhaps,
may see
all i want
is you
to be with me.

blades of the fan
like lights, dashes
on a highway, speed
by on this edge-tipped
cd, “plea for peace:
take action,” and
slightly over
the insurance,
all-state, card
red-striped, white.

i’m here
you’re there
it’s not distance,
just a stare–
you see?
you see?

not the step kind,
but i
might as well
to see

you
‘re there and i’m
here.

“I have to get up
and move around. If I sit, I’ll
get up and go Psshhoo.”

Grandma gets up,
standing,
wobbles
in her small frame
and catches herself
on the frame of the door,
walks toward the counter,
grabbing
chairs, one
at a time along her way,
to see the screendoor,
the damage done, and
I feel she fell
some time earlier,
is recovering,
and she does not want
to give in or give up,
even if it means she’s
really giving herself
a chance, though
she knows if she does,
she seems weak,
even if she is
the truly
strongest woman
I’ve ever met
and she doesn’t
even know she is
yet
I cannot tell her
for she’ll just
swear and sit and say,
“No, no, no– Honestly,
no.”