Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Crisp Grasp

One day I watched a tree shed all it’s leaves in an hour.
It was a young tree..
It’s haste left me rooted to the ground
It was taking my speed
My need to get it done get it done get it done now
get there now
do it now
have it now
My ineptitude in the art of waiting

Or was I poisoning it?

My mere presence sapping this tree of it’s youth
Bulldozing it towards winter’s crisp grasp

Monday, May 24, 2010

word spooge

a veil before your eyes
drown in heavy cream
drink in honey
toss the container in the street.

lift luggage
lift lids
lift a finger
break down.


like the rough renders i scrawl
with ball pen
at two am,
my love for you is incomplete.

wish we had a past,
instead of this irresolute present.

like water,
ever precious.
for (granted)
for (ever)

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

let me dream of raw wood
with strong grains
that challenge the tyranny of straight lines
and straight lives
with dogs on rugs in front of fires holding back the draft from the door that leads to rolling hills
or lakes
or all the forests of the world
wrap me in that throw we knitted from the unraveling of our minds
and fall asleep with me on the floor

Tuesday, May 4, 2010


like a needle shot bullseye from a hundred feet away
a diamond saw crafting impossible beauty from a dusty rock
like how i know the exact way you like your coffee
how you get out of bed
exactly where to kiss your neck

Thursday, April 29, 2010

simply downtrodden
simply uplifted

i remember walking down the gravel path at your aunt's acreage.
the entrance is informal, merely a break in the bright red fence circumferencing her yard.
the paper birch trees hang limply over the walkway. their listlessness inspires a certain relaxation in us as we forget the world of parents, curfews.
the impending doom of september and the prison of ancient desks, smelly erasers and lined paper is forgotten. we disappear into the embrace of mother nature, playing at being our ancestors.

we are less then a stone's throw from the highway. it doesn't matter. we are simply lost in the forest, as far as we are concerned.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

Back From the Dead?

This is a Tragic Ending.
I see her standing there,
ice from her eyes
breaking on the sidewalk

and forgotten,
you feel no pain.

I hold her and melt her tears with
my breath, full of assurances that
it's not okay
but it will be okay

after the last page is turned
and after the book is placed down
and after she walks away.

One Poem and One Day At A Time

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