Dance with me
We will move through this fantasy
Our eyes heavy with sleep
The highs and lows are haunting me
My heart was always yours to keep
But we move so ungracefully
Every step a tragedy
My heart cries

You are my Moonlight Sonata

“i haven’t seen her in years,”
said the hospital bed,
“though i’ve seen many others,
who sobbed violently like her,
who sunk into me like a young, rusting anchor.
who could not get comfortable in one position or
one mindset or
one truth.
i have felt them dig in their heels
and try to ache and and fight and
scream, just quietly enough not to wake their roommate.”

“i remember their shapes,”
said the hospital bed,
“how their voices rose slowly like a far-off ambulance siren,
how their faces fell when they remembered the emergency
was right here.
i have been kicked, punched,
clung to, held on to,
as if gravity switched suddenly and they feared
yet another aspect of the universe was against them.
i’ve seen ***** sheets and i’ve seen clean ones. i’ve
seen boys with tattoos on their faces and
razor marks on their arms. i’ve seen pain.
i’ve seen girls who wouldn’t turn off the lights,
girls who couldn’t turn off the lights,
girls who had turned a light off once and never wanted
to do anything else. i’ve seen pain.

i’ve felt love before
more often than the lovers thought they loved,
more strongly than the fighters thought
they could fight.
in shaky hands folding down blankets
more carefully than they have all week
in heads that flop ungracefully onto
pillows, securely,
fulfilled.
in the slow turn of a hospital bracelet
around a pale wrist,
in large, golden brown hands,
inspected through tear-blurred eyes,
through scratched glasses,
picked up off the floor after discovering
force won’t carry a ring of thin plastic
as far as you thought.

i hear change in whispers,
good night, good luck,
in hushed acceptance, in ‘yes,
i really am here’. in
screams that send nurses in panic only to find
you were laughing. in numbers,
in ‘five hundred milligrams,’
in ‘three gained pounds’, in
‘one more day’.

i hear shock, i hear fear,
in echoes of parents’ voices,
‘why here? why now?’
i have heard and seen and felt all of them.

but she,”
continued the hospital bed,
“hasn’t been in here in a while.
i haven’t heard her whisper
to her roommate about what she did
‘that night’, i haven’t seen her
sneak away from her pile of pajamas
as if she didn’t just hide something there,
i haven’t heard her empathize
with a pencil sharpener.

it’s been so long,
it’s hard to imagine,”
said the hospital bed,
‘i hardly remember  her'.
if only the hospital bed knew
that she could hardly remember
herself from then either,
if only it knew she hadn't stopped
fighting once she left
if only it knew
how she felt when they said
she only needed to go to therapy
every other week.
it felt like progress,
and it felt like hope,
and no one better than
a hospital bed
could understand that.

Don't recite to me an other metaphor about your heart beat or a sonnet about my eyes
I'm gonna *****
Miss my mouth again
Like we're kissing for the first time
Fumble in the dark
Like you don't have my skin memorized
I admire you even when you're awkward
And honest and weird
Please tell me when you're scared
I wanna trust you
You can be a perfect poet with a pen
When you're reflecting on this later
But right now, if your words all fade
clumsily into each other, it's okay
Because, my darling angel,
I swear on every vowel of this messy piece
That I love you anyway
Lalala I love you always

I rejoice in feeling ungraceful,
for grace is such a silly thing to bear.
I do not still the waded waters of my stay:
I lay unevenly and sing loud.
And try to leave reminders everywhere.

I step closer to the edge out where I play
and peer longingly into the raging seas.
When I die, listen to the voice of morning.
And you will hear me blowing ungracefully
as wind through the trees.

A feather floating,
this feather is me and it was a pound heavier.
This once heavy feather merely floated.
I found solace in weighted thoughts,
my heart was born a feather
and it personified me
but it felt too special in all the wrong ways
when this feather aged and changed
many felt pain and this poor feather floated
but it added a few ounces to normalize itself
this heart of mine added weight by the day to
identify myself with other with ease.
I tried to float in this new chapter of my life,
but the feather floated ungracefully,
the feather lost its fluffy bits, bit by bit.
Crunch time and I dropped a pound of weight from my heart,
it was sudden, almost like losing baggage in an air plane terminal.
I use this feather as a saber,
it floats gently around conflicts that are blinded by shallow intents
and cuts the air.
It dances and spins,
this feather truly floats.

When I was younger:
   I shuffled along,
to no urgent song,
didn't march through my day strong. When young and strong are the best time for planned  convictions.
There's no acting lazy, or slowing down to the crazy, unless you want to live ungracefully in this hard unforgiving world.
When I was younger:
   I lacked logic cause I didn't make clear my premise,
like a man with no plan, a sap with no map.  I wandered tither and yonder like a ghoal  without a goal, a ghost least of most,  no future to ponder.
When I was younger:
   I bogged down in metaphorical feces cause I didn't watch where I was wading, forsaking and debating, planning is for suckers, futures are for chuckers.
When I was younger:
   I did nil and stood still while the city raced around me, progress to astound thee, forgetting the earth constantly rotates 260 miles an hour- waiting for no one.
When I was younger:
   Like the Dodo bird I forgot to grow wings, was eatin by rats and things, became extinct and unlinked to a place run on business, consumerism and cash. On the rocks I was dashed.
When I was younger:
I became he who loses, with a broken compass and excuses, laying laggardly leaderless, with the snoozing and the boozing, and sold my initiative for a bag of grass.
That's when I was younger:
   I'm older than that now.  But I still remember. It's  hard being younger!!

I am rotting
every leaf ungracefully falling
used my branch for temporary support

I won't make the leaves stay
they've lost all their chlorophyll
they were causing unnecessary weight

I know its winter
its been winter for the past few years
I cant keep every leaf
but so many are falling off

I'm staying alive
because with every leaf that falls
winter is closer to an end
and spring comes nearer

*flowers will bloom

Milk white,
pure as unbroken *****,
innocence lain bare.

My touch,
aches, despoils. Alarms,
so soft; a feather’s caress.

Creamy smooth,
lotion filled *****, disarming
with a frown, down-turned; tears.

Teases me, terrifies me in its shroud. Free me, set me loose
from this cage, this frigid incarceration, lay me bare. My *****,
split and opened; exposed. Soft, pink tongue, coated crimson,
makes love to my wounds. My kitten, sweet, laps the saucer.

Abstracted from the fragments, broken in the wind of
your Madonna, holy, sincere. Shadow creases the
wrinkled skin, veins; varicose. Age comes ungracefully,
my beauty, wrapped in plastic.

Husky voice, once soothing and gracious,
crackles tales over lines built by Ma Bell.
Reportedly bluebirds
flit among dusty silk arrangements
to bask in afternoon sunshine
among the Dakota Farmer magazines
littered on the antique end table.

Imaginary camels prance
in the snowy field across the road,
ungracefully swing their long necks
and await their performance
in the annual Christmas display
beside the local Lutheran Church

Hallucinations of old friends,
long dead, entertain and comfort her
from the frayed and tattered
tweed couch alongside her
plaid overstuffed rocking chair.
Farewell entertainment,
seen through coated grey lens
as her body prepares
for eternal residence
in the beyond.

I used to believe
there could be somekind of
god, when I prayed
for someone like you.
Now that you’re not all
a prayer was meant to be,
maybe God’s as reckless
and as ungracefully human
as the drunk of you
and the misfit of me.

one
You were my very first kiss,
But it became obvious that you loved roly polies more than me
It was never meant to work between us.

two*
Behind a tree at recess,
I showed you mine and you showed me yours
We were too young to feel ashamed of our bodies
We were pirates exploring a brand new sea
At 6 years old, every touch was a good touch

three
You told me I was funnier than all the boys in the class
You told me you hated going to mass on Monday mornings, too.
You pushed me on the swings and didn’t ask me to push you back.
I don’t even remember your name.

four
Thank you for trading me your favorite charzard pokemon card
Thank you for being my friend
Thank you for telling me you would miss me when I moved away
I was lonely before I met you
And after I unmet you

five
When it turned out that you were gay
I thought to myself ‘this’ll be a funny story
to tell my grandkids one day’

six
When YOU turned out to be gay
I decided maybe it would be better not to tell the grandkids

seven
Once we held hands in a middle school play
9 years later I watched you give your second interview on CNN
So, I’m not saying that I am responsible for your amazing success,
But I’m certainly not saying that either.

eight
After our first date,
I called and told you
That I missed you already.
I still do.

nine
Maybe one day I’ll forget the exact shade of your eyes
And the number of freckles sprinkled across your nose

I think of you more often than I don’t.

ten
Once we talked on the phone for 7 hours,
And when I told you I needed to go to sleep
You asked me to keep the phone on and lay it beside my pillow
You told me that you wanted my voice to be
The first thing you heard in the morning.
You said that you missed me terribly when I was gone.
But you were a really terrible kisser.

eleven
When I think of you I think of broken glass.

twelve
You asked me to call you ‘Peachtree Jackson’
The first time I met you.
And that’s when I knew I’d love you forever.

thirteen
I knew it was going to hurt when it started.
I was too young, and you were too old.
You were the first person to tell me that I had a beautiful mind
You kissed me greedily like a diver coming up for air
You are the reason I love poetry.
You are the reason I hated high school.
Your son is the spitting image of you,
And I hope that your wife tells you she loves you every single day.

fourteen
We melted into each other like honey into warm tea
Like new snowflakes into an open palm
We swapped virginities like baseball cards
You pressed your hands into my body like wet cement
Now when I undress for another man
I worry he can still see your finger prints
I thought of you like a small child
Who needed a hand to hold when he crossed the street
You treated me like your favorite shirt
Hung me carefully in the back of your closet
Kept me in your darkest room
Washed me out too many times and refused to throw me away
When you noticed the seams start to rip
You sewed your name into all my underwear
So everyone would know who they belonged to

fifteen
I know that you love me
But in a practical way.
I really, really did want it to be you.

sixteen
Your laugh still makes me feel like candlelight
Your sleepy morning smile is a lit up Christmas tree
Your kiss is a comfy sweater fresh from the drier
You were the first person I was afraid to sleep next to
Not because I thought you would leave in the night,
But because I was afraid to wake up ungracefully beside you
I wish you had told me the last time I laid myself next to you
Would be the last
I would have hummed the sound of your breathing
Committed each rise and fall of your chest to memory
I would have whispered my love into your ear
Instead of into your pillow
You are still my favorite part of the last 4 years
And I am the thrift shop you visit
To remind yourself what becomes of the people you love
When you’re gone

seventeen
This is for the love I have not yet met
I don’t know when we’ll meet or where we’ll meet.
It might be tomorrow or it might be 10 years from now.
Right at this moment you might be standing 3,000 miles
away from me
Or you might be shopping for groceries at the supermarket
down the street
Wherever you are, I hope that you are thinking of me, too.
But take your time, love.
You don’t need to feel rushed.
Whenever you’re ready to find me
I’ll be here.
Ready to add your name to my list.

My poetry,
is selfish
The dead
never stay dead
Twisting in their grave
No peace for rest
As I sprawl them ungracefully
Across my page
Dragging them from depths unknown
To live once more
Amongst my words.

Stabbing small ordeal
Betrayed chills clinging
Dependent
Remember
Threatens, turns, tongue
Destruction piece
Bliss loving,
Crave,
Fading features
await despite circles
ungracefully snap--
Caressing loneliness
Read, dare, try
apology--
stained.
Starry rush
composure probably
nagging,
closed slightly,
fighting.

I could hear a pin drop.

No, a ball of cotton lightly float and touch down.
Upon a silk sheet.

A speck of dust land on another speck of dust thousands of light years away,
where the colours are inverted negative,
and creatures communicate in a way that doesn’t require poorly worded drunken blurbs
converted into electrons
travelling from one annoyingly loud metal chip to another.

I can hear the electrons converting
and I can hear them laughing at me.

I am a speck of dust upon a speck of dust.
Ungracefully, heavily falling onto my creased sheets.

Alone.

i make my approach,
mimicking plaintive movements
of the colossus
cloud structures migrating
across serene vastness.
-----their blue plains
-----are my green plains;
-----their source
-----is my source.
i see a silhouette
wandering on far off hill:
i wonder...
the crows leave no trace in the air.
their cawing has caught my heart
like a hook would a fish.
the unrelenting wind at my back
will not have me turn back:
i am promised to the forest.
at the edge of the trees
is a grave, modestly
marked by a small wooden cross:
perhaps it is my grave.
i enter ungracefully
into a forgotten kingdom of grace
ravaged.
the earth, so full of life,
is carpeted with death:
brown leaves crunch beneath my boots.
the webs of ivy i traverse make me feel unwelcome.
elsewhere, on trees fallen
and others not yet so,
merciless ivy and giant vines constricting.
elsewhere, the singing of birds unseen
in beauty.
the whispers of trees are
earth shattering, soul cleaving:
freeing me from my confines concrete.
everything that does not seem still
trembles—
do i seem still?
the trunks of trees are robust like my being;
i look up, their high reaches sway playfully,
gently,
as sun rays gain entry also
and remind me of my duties
which i am gift to.
it's true, my dear Emerson:
perpetual youth is found in the woods,
but we mustn't tarry too long.

I've never asked how you felt
About being watched
Some of us humans will
Travel great distances
Just to catch a glimpse
How do you feel about this?

Is it a bother, perhaps
That a clunky, binocular-toting creature
Is trundling ungracefully through your home?
Your domestic life
Needs no prying eyes

Or could it be an honor?
You merely inherited
The feathers, the songs
And you're loved for it

Perhaps you are indifferent?
You pay them no heed,
Since they do not pose a threat
To your food or family
While they stand around and stare vacantly

Maybe it depends
If you were a sparrow happily whistling,
Or a bunting bachelor finding a suitor,
Or a warbler that had a REALLY bad day
Since her baby turned out to be a cowbird?
Or a goose whose patience runs thin
As the screaming human-chicks keep chasing it?

If you could take up a pen,
Or a quill, since you have many,
I would love for you
To get back to me
So at least I could respect your wishes

As our car slides
ungracefully to the beat of
the music, we ponder
about the theory
of the universe only to discover
we are a troubled, modern group of
society's psychotic teenagers.

that’s her. the patron saint of gluing words together with chewed pieces of gum. feeding the public with consumable bites of confusion. saint dipped in jewel tone yellow. consistently writing notes to what she believes in. blessed and consecrated into siren lights. crows feet dragging along the sides of scrap metal. a cartoon closet with the inability to settle. fisherman’s sweaters that owe the intended man a blistered *******. black night gown thrown out an open window. velvet second skin rubbing the walls of mountain homes. the patron saint of birthday candle wax blowing through strips of hair. scaring away bits of violet holy air.

the cherub in the corner ******* on bits of blonde boy’s fingertips. she prances numb toes over bike spokes. wings are tattooed on her back to combat numerical rebellion. logic climbs spine as she tries to change lenses. her sunset tilted on its axis. renaissance painting on fragile ceiling tiles in public bathrooms. garden party with one flower to examine. eyes vacant as to avoid witnessing rebellion. little crane holding paper organs in place. bodies of water pushed into vacant sacred space. sleeping close to statues and warming brass within. the cherub angel floats above all girls with silly sin.

the apostle tied to few words. a ghost for a mother and piece of machinery for a father. exhuming quartz from 3rd degree burns. a smile painted on a German Shepard. thrift shop candy born because of ***** quarters. heels grinding coffee grounds and unbelievable pearls from an ungraceful mouth. spitting up fishhooks into fat tire beer. the apostle staring through crosses for a year. wiping down windows with the horizon’s morning breath. pouring peroxide onto ignorant mumble of wealth and egotistical evidence.

the dove predictably flies in upper atmosphere to avoid being seen. squeezing through sharp pieces of mosaic, evading gendered fantasy. birds eye view with potential to burn. landing on rocks watching serenity waste by. most absent parade. mourning in front of an uncertain feeling’s grave. without action there is nothing there to shame. animal comrades using up his skill of throwing wires to wind and sparkling in fields. ukulele vibration uncomfortably close to ski slopes. exhausted idealism underneath of secret thunder skies and metal tube lies.

the temptation from hell’s revived angel. her fall ungracefully surpassing earth’s quivering rotation. blood reborn with rocks for teeth. soft skin easily ripped during the denial of immoral needs. bubbling rapids sailed over with caution, weighing clothes wet as a reminder. favorite songs played forward and backward. promise of vengeful bulbs lighting autumn’s vivid memories. old prose inserted into the fat of your syntax, catching and toying with the rats in your mind.  demon angel not as red in old light.

every love song that sounds,
every wedding bell that rings,
every break up,
every tear.
brings us all back.
we sit in silence at dinner,
for i accidentally reminded us all seconds ago with a single word.
she smiles, putting on that face,
for that little boy seated across from me.
we look at him hopefully,
"i gotta ***"
he says,
ungracefully breaking the delicate silence.
he leaves us biting our cheeks,
smiling small,
thinking big.
it's right here,
growing stale once again,
filling up the air.
causing us to inhale the secrets,
we've tried to let go of.
they're clogging up our systems,
drowning us in ourselves,
once again...

Sleeves of an army green jacket rolled to expose excitement. A predetermined embrace encloses around shoulders, politeness exchanged with anxious adrenaline. Pools of color collide and ungracefully splash the sidewalk. Thresholds crossed to beginnings

met by intertwining smiles. The air smells deeply roasted, exhaled as yellow stools become wrapped in conversation; all taboos acknowledged bare resemblance. Forgotten, a “Thank You” hangs out to dry. Time allotted permits brisk rambling through the hour.

Sleeves of stressed denim rolled to expose inklings. Uninhibited, honesty undresses the night’s private faculties. Every last minute filled with sound, devoured, begging no respite. Deliberately, the question must be borrowed. Chance unravels the enigma of

possibilities. Irradiating uncertainty escapes the green emeralds facing eagerness; remanded by signs of relief. Stubble is clutched diligently with five occasions, but only soft, warmth resonates. Radiation permeates the sum, encompassing fleeting eternity.

Sleeves of illustrious silver rolled around to expose shyness. First time intensity subdues any exaggerated significance. By familiar melody sweetness dances, tasted by those listening. Fascination entices conscious dreaming for scarce minutes, stolen.

Laughter called upon repetition. The other side expressed desire to not be resigned. A latch clicks, reminding of punctuality long lost. Captivated moments craved no more entertaining conclusions. Turning, a smile reveals a brief twinkle saying, “Good Night.”

Lateness found itself worthy of the answer.

They say evil strikes at the stroke of midnight
But they struck in clear daylight
After a decade of Peace
The bombs detonated

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6...
Paradise bombarded
Bombs
Peace flees.
50, 100, 200, 300....
Casualties.
The death toll kept rising.

Now we're left in the wake
Of pondering how
We can keep
Harmony
Fractured at the seams
From shattering

Tears flooding at the thought
Of the lost
Ungracefully robbed of lives
Families torn
Six feet under

Politicians in parliament
Raging blame at one another
Throwing words
While
Our leaders graced homes with their respects for the Dead.
Hospitals flooded with patients
And cadavers.

7, 8.
It seems to have ended now.
The bombs have done.

Paradise may be thrown into terror,
But we've still got generations
Who've seen agony before
We've got people
Unified and knowledgeable
On the secrets of healing
Who've regrown peace.

3 minutes of quiet.
3 days of mourning.
3 hours to get back to work.

Paradise will stand taller.
Paradise will remember.
Paradise will.

And Paradise,
Will never let this happen, again.

23.04.2019

You speak words of her admiration,
How ungracefully you fall.
My heart flattens from your deflation,
So gracefully I rebuild my wall

Time’s enduring kiss
is not a thing of
romantic bliss.
Instead it bares the agony
of aging ungracefully.

Teeth decay,
rotting in pain
that requires
Vicodin
and dental surgery
just so we
can get some sleep.

Hair grays and thins
or thins and grays.
Till, white threads
fill your head
or a bald shine
lights the way.

One by one
people recede
like a tide returning
to the sea,
bowing out voluntarily
or due to mortality.

The mind loses
its grip
and confuses
many things,
while vision
begins
blurring
and we become
hard,
HARD,
HARD!!!!
Of hearing.

Till, the finale
comes nearing
and death starts clearing
your consciousness
from all that is
living.