The moon wanes as if it’s taken to counting down the days
A post solstice clock sliding across my window each night
Im watching couples in the terminal sway into one another
(The fireworks roll distant)
Your quiet count down is triangulated about the earth in delay
(The earth continues to orbit its star)
Thoughts unbidden
Of your post shower shyness,
Of how soft your body sleeps,
Of conveying all the longing with an embrace,
You exhale
We slip quietly into a new year
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 11:49 PM UTC
my mothers father
the one who adopted all of his children
perhaps too humbled by Him
to have the audacity to create
(although ive never really asked)
eats fruit in his car alone by the sea and
listens to christian radio for hours
inspiration for his sermons
and he tells me that love isnt love
if it doesnt bring life
because by its nature
its bringing death
(and ive never really been brave enough to ask
what he thinks of seedless grapes)
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 11:48 PM UTC
Ears pricking, only quietly haunting any other type and skirting the edges of things wolfishly, I’m howling all of the things that build up at a forever indifferent moon, pupils narrow in the light from a cracked phone screen, insatiable, academics are another breed altogether, we go back to our hometowns and feel too big inside, consumed
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
I deleted your
Number but now I know it
By heart anyways
Did you ever find
out who smashed the window of
your truck in that night?
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
I have not lived here long enough yet to make the miles between town seem any less than what they are but there's a chance they never do
I wonder this when I watch the cynical navy men and women slink from their houses between the trees when it's still dark, asking if I was a newbie, wondering if they were the reasons for the prolific "don't drink and drive in memory of:" signs posted along the the lithe road that twists between lakes and the far flung gas stations that cater to them
where the mountains peeking through in the west seem out of place, unsettling, like a secret relayed to the casual ear
I have not lived here long enough yet to have had that fortnight meeting on the lawn with thoughts of my return to the earth and a pair of nail clippers or to be able to dance with the creaks in the hardwood
And I'm still missing the droll herons that would loop from the north around the pines of my home on the hillside and land in a huff in the low tides amongst the gulls, I miss knowing, the path of the sun across seasons on my chambers floor and whether the chickadees here prefer the birches in the park or the tall broad leaves that stare at me from across the lake and the when of all things that move in the dull quiet
////
But Ive lived here long enough that the bruise on his neck hasnt faded and I wonder if we'll be over before that happens too
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
Sometimes I think they are bugs
when I see them from the corner of tired eyes
I catch them wandering between my fingers and knees and scratch at phantom itches
and fidget when I stand in line
Pulling at the make up below my eyelids
a target on the hollow of my throat if you were looking for one
I pieced together the patterns of strangers like constellations
And never let my friends use pen
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 6:17 AM UTC
name tag, smile, tattoos
stare at complimented shoes
too shy to ask you
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 6:06 AM UTC
Our words are flecked with phosphorous
Lighting the search of a changed beach
The ferry approaches us timidly
Inhaling the smoke drift wood fire
Before tracing her route back
twice around the island
Before we eventually leave
Curiously eyeing us from afar each time
Strange sand creatures to her and
Almost strangers ourselves
Cigarettes and alcohol bleaching
shifting changing our past
into something we
laughed about
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 11:44 PM UTC
It’s been a while
Your hair has creeped back and exposed the top of your head and your eyes change color a lot but maybe they always did that its been a while.
The conversation lapsed in on itself again
and David had fallen asleep,
To dream about smoke stacks reportedly,
And had left us alone with
all the conversations and laughter and arguments of the last eight years that we never had
Reverberating off the windows and leather seats and dissipating into radio static
I asked how to switch to AM and
You were surprised although
I was just being nostalgic for days when we'd wait in your car on cold mornings and I was too young to understand anything
I awkwardly admitted that i just felt like
hearing some one talk
And you fiddled with the **** thing for too long before you picked one
and after a minute
it became horribly apparent to us both that the topic of the morning was "dead beat dads"
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 4:57 AM UTC
Rorschach test for knees
Lovingly kissed by chairs, tables
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 3:50 AM UTC