there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late.
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
Hope is the morning sun
Peering in through my kitchen window
As I sip fresh steaming coffee alone.
Hope is the last workday before
My next day off, when I’m happy
For once, to wish away the hours.
Hope is awkward like a high school dance,
Like two virgins kissing
Beneath the gymnasium bleachers.
Hope is a grocery list fastened
To my refrigerator with a free magnet
Advertising a divorce lawyer.
Hope is a cracked wine glass, packed away
In a moving box that traveled from Kentucky to Illinois –
Just another casualty of the long journey.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
I rise up like a defeated despot
Climbing the steps to the noose.
The razor-coarse fibers
Scratch at my skin.
Hordes of humanity watch
And jeer my folly and celebrate
The imminence of my end.
If only I could join them…
But I am just a man
Staring past the steamed mirror
With the razor to my neck,
Late again, for the morning commute.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
A black cat creeps softly in the calm night air
Tracking a faint rustling amongst the tall grass.
A lost bunny with a broken hind leg, forgotten
By mother and siblings.
And the cat crouches lower, slowing its breathing
As it prepares itself.
Look away, if you must. It’s almost over now.
But know that even if you do not watch,
The night still watches you.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 11:08 PM UTC