Love is
Everything that’s been said
And so much yet to be.
Love is
Giving up and knowing
They’re not ready to.
Love is
Following her widened lips
Against the brightness of
Those teeth, eating me
With every glimpse and
Wide laughter, shattering
Those frozen restraints, and
I let go the pearls she
So often catches me clutching
When I had a better thing to grab.
Love is
Unfinished
gave this a lot of thought
(ok, a little bit):
are we
where we want to be,
or where
we’ve ended up be-
ing?
see, i know
we have a hist-or-y,
but maybe
know-ing there’s somewhere
we’d rather be would
bring us clari-ty.
scrunched up beside you,
only wanting an arm
or leg to be
warmed by
the skin
i miss through clothes
and sheets
and
space
and
the day;
but,
at night,
i know
you’ll
be still
and i can
hold on
or rest on
or be
rested up-on.
crazy
the amount
of time between
seeing you and
being me, who
i am when
only you’re around.
when
tick-ing-s
of a clock
become mile markers,
telling us
we’re growing further
’til we’re growing closer,
and i don’t know the difference
when kept so far for so long.
up-side-down, we’d
work above and below and
just reach out hands
to steady ourselves, but
we’re forced
in this gravity
to be distanced
differently.
so, you say
your day was rough,
mine was, too,
and we could eat
our breathing
to feed,
but
routines maintain
their grasp on us
and chores go by,
being left for
other days,
just as our
desires do,
but
then you look to
me
and i’m fallen
again, find-ing
no-thing to prop
myself on but
your gaze, smile,
bit-lip smile,
slight nod,
and i’m fallen
again, find-ing
no-thing to prop
myself on but
your gaze, smile,
bit-lip smile,
slight nod,
and i’m fallen
a-gain.
confusion reigns for
as long as clarity squats
in recesses, calmly holding
on to knowledge while
trying to close eyes
being kept open by
beating veins unseen,
but known by caricature.
and each tremor shakes
confidence, laid flat
with arms spread wide
and legs lending no
helping hand to holding
on to a floor worn by
pacings of patience, they
who know nothing more than
presence, yet are fine
with that; smile forms,
and all is twisted
slightly as the light
comes in to welcome
inner world to outside.
and pain digs in, trying
hard to find a place to
surround itself with
walls and keep itself
away from out there, where
laughing, that most violent
of actions, comes and hastens
the burying.
now, clarity stands to
walk away the reasons and excuses
creeping in and throwing
dirt on top of pain, hoping
to hide happenings underfoot,
but walking on is not walking away.
now, clarity speaks to
clear the cavern of the hollowed feelings
wrapped around themselves, and knowledge
chases away confusion, swatting
at the reasons and excuses, growing
at its taile as feet bound feet to keep
the foolery at bay.
and my head swivels under water,
trying to find the sky, but the
sand looks so comfortable,
sweet bed of ships & fairy tales,
incubator of necessity,
but the sky is calling back its breath,
and i can’t forget my family,
though they may appreciate the
work my toes have done to make lines
and holes in the softest ground
hope can be just as bad as anger
regret, that
sticky treat let
build on teeth,
holds firm against
the tongue, the
champion of clean
and consumption.
There,
Against the wall
With paint lightened
By the oil of her face,
She laughed,
And her toes curled.
Her
Teeth, white, tried
To hold in the noise,
Failing, though
She didn’t really care
And she kept scrolling.
Life
Seemed to stay
In each frame she saw,
While, falling, the
Stars stayed outside
And her eyes closed.
Took
A second to lose
Thoughts of there, to
Replace them with flying,
But she did,
And she became weightless.
On
Remembering gravity,
Sand filled her shoulders,
Though her head floated,
Bobbing to the laughter,
And reality left her.
Another
Breath awoke her to
A moment in the present,
Passed as quickly from
Her as the second,
And she continued in the loop.
Nothing is as sad as the realization of gravity
With the draining of a bath so calming, sea.
I sometimes forget I am a poet, self-declared,
And rhyme in mind that which is unsaid
In kind, hoping my past works still speak
Though they are but words on page left meek.
So, verily, I trust my rust to wonder of what
I have done before, leaving today to someone else
Whose actions say I am right lost in life, as would
A fool be if he, not knowing, were the fool.
Shakespeare comes easily because I cannot go
Above their model, always imitating and rarely
Leaving those shallow verses, deep by glance, behind.
I drew a bath for first time in decade+five, hoping
To loosen back tight since aught-nine, but
Failed to hear wife in shower, 45, and so
Sat, warm, hoping water was more than gravity’s pawn.
The
Thousand flying punches
Of the wind
Against these eyes,
Bulging holes
From which the view appears,
Rub, like sand
O’er the rolling dunes,
And my mind wanders through the grains.
Fought for you
Though your bag was gone,
Looked for a note
To tell me where– no[ne].
Left the lights on,
Hoping you would
Find the way home.
Those roads, glass, keeping
Eyes blind to the world
Outside, their mark’ed chords.
And none lead back,
Only by crossing o’er
Mine and yours.
Every time
Every time we
Get that
Little bit angry, we
Start to fume,
Start to yell,
Start to
Take it all inside.
Every time we
Get that
Lip quiver goin’, we
Start to tear,
Start to fumble,
Start to
Act like we’re OK.
Every time we
Look forward to
That moment on the park bench,
Sitting, resting
Hands on laps, just a-
Hoping we’d move our palms over,
Just a-
Hoping we’d get over that
Little tussle, and
We always will, we always will
Give in to
The future
And
Let the past go by.
Driving down this old country road,
Headlights pulling friends I don’t know.