call it dialectal
call it duality
every day is an equal mix
of pleasure and pain
gratitude and awareness
and the agony of feeling it all at once
there is a wound clock in a lonely house
ticking with a tangled chain
when no one is there to wind it back
it slows to a stop
never to tick again
before our end of days
I hope each of us know what it’s like to love
and to hate
because how else would we feel love?
when the evening comes
will we feel remorse for what we haven’t had?
or gratitude for what we see before us?
if there’s both
you have lived a life worth knowing
Sep 26, 2024
Sep 26, 2024 at 9:35 PM UTC
man we are just so comfortable
in these cozy bubbles
convinced we cannot change a thing but our own environment
bothered and put off by the suffering of others
asking “how can you even watch that?”
unwilling to sit with those feelings of helplessness and rage
unable to tolerate seeing the things we’ve never seen
the desperation we never will experience
and the situations others didn’t get to choose
as if we aren’t living on the same exact earth
and maybe that’s exactly what keeps us here
drinking our frappes
stressed about a deadline
complaining about our french fries
American dreaming
Nov 19, 2023
Nov 19, 2023 at 10:09 AM UTC
the house across the street
has been empty
for years
because the landlord can’t afford
to tear it down
or build a new one
and it won’t pass inspection
one lamp stays on
all day
all night
to deter the copper thieves
or any other broken soul
seeking shelter
from the streets
a child runs across the splintered floor
his feet black as tar
stinking of mildew and *****
a mother sinks into her soiled chair
but she tries
a trust-fund recipient rides his jet-ski
his oiled body
tanned and toned
a father, gleaming, takes a photo
and he flaunts
everyone has their own place in the world
in a trailer park
in a tent
in a split-level home
in a shelter
in a palace
but never on the pavement
beaten down
like a poorly-trained dog
blamed for the errors
of its master
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 11:38 AM UTC
At what point
would I take for granted
those crystal waters
and those consecrated mountains?
Yet there are days still spent
dreading sundown
or the sleepless daybreak
of a grieving city
Does escaping your hometown
make you a coward or
shall I die a martyr?
Might I pencil in a visit to each grave?
Or would you like to deliver
the flowers
for me?
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 1:46 AM UTC
were you warm when the lights faded out?
was it just how you wanted it?
when the golden hour comes
and the dullest corners come to life
I search for you
can you hear me?
did you think you could pray your way out?
when your mind stopped racing
I hope you were clutching those beads
studying the heavens
did you find it?
do you now know the solace
that I never will?
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
a man holding a sign
in the cold rain
“forgotten Vietnam vet”
disposable as napkins
they clean up your mess
you can toss them away
but the stain
bleeds through
as your heated seats
warm only
your ego
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 3:58 PM UTC
I dreamt of being on a plane
plummeting towards the bluish green marble
my future existence in question
I reached for the phone
wanting only to say,
“Thank you.
You saved me.”
My soul was rescued from oblivion
by a man
who taught me how to love again.
He peels himself away from my grasp
before sunrise
as I groan out a desperate plea
as time’s most
disgruntled prisoner.
He eats up what my heart feeds him
because it’s all I have to offer.
And past visions of future homes
disappear
and are replaced
by not a place
but a person.
And suddenly
the path I am on
seems much less important
than the hand
I am holding.
I’ll follow
either way.
Aug 5, 2017
Aug 5, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
through misery and neglect
I kept on
for this I am thankful
because everything that has ever moved me
was pushing me one step closer
to you
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 12:11 PM UTC
I am the human
giving tree
and there's been a little boy
hanging off my branches
for far
too long
I have no apples left
just some twigs
and a
strong trunk
where someone
once carved their name
never to be
erased
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 6:33 AM UTC
now I realize
the nurses were right
there was no saving what was
already dead
what you wrote off
you pretend not to see
a memory erased from a white board
but the words still show themselves
from a certain angle
in a certain light
why acknowledge
what makes us human?
assuming time is wasted
as if plans
are more important
than the present
and that was it alone
a fear that grew
into a monster
with an appetite for two
built of past and future failures
lured back into hiding
by today's expensive distraction
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC