My eyes snaked,
sidewound, aware, wary.
Wretched wishes do not plague me now,
hopeless as they were in the empty cataclysm.
Yet, with this newfound freedom, flayed and
fragile, fumigating the baby breaths from my lips,
I still feel a sudden descent;
I do not trust my senses to allow me peace,
as I admire a cumulonimbus thunderhead, the sky turquoise through
the windshield, and the concoction of summer
sky tantrums in the afternoon and the kiss of stale air conditioned
zephyr propagate my subconscious, and,
thus, I have yielded to razor-edged heart shards again,
even after I pledged to leave them on the cold, tile floor.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC
Some deserts look so much like the ocean floor.
And we were laughing but I wasn't sure why
and the dusk sky was the same indigo as the sweater I wore
when you kissed me so softly in the back of my car with rose petal lips
as we took refuge from the hail with the other drivers.
And worms sprouted from the loam, brown like the earth.
I found an unused chapstick,
and I remember the wrapper was green,
but not the green of your eyes, and definitely not the same green in mine.
I still don't know why it was there, or why you'll never be again.
And I'll add those to the list that includes the way
your eyes were full of cypress trees.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
Perhaps all I missed
was lightning-quick to some,
wrapped in a glance of derision.
But in my gaze, you were
chimerical , wonderful,
the one to complete the puzzle.
Now I see the ragged edges
and frayed ends of your strings
and wonder how I ever thought
you'd be the one to tie things together.
The colors slinked from
my tear ducts in striations and I knew
I knew
all along you should have appeared grey.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
I remember
there were nights when I found it
incredibly novel
for someone to tell me, "goodnight."
And now it is as if
you have corrupted
me with sorrowful expectation.
I will never know whether
my name is afforded a second glance
by you.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
The moor was dense
But the film was loose
and my blistered heel
broke the surface
and paralleled your cry,
ringing.
reverberation was never so kind in
this fog,
and it swallowed you.
Mist licked my open eyes.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
Light Darkness,
Soft Shadows,
Brilliant Undertones-
Flush with Flesh.
Dramatic
Elegant
Raw
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
I am not the ladder with the creaking rungs upon which your dusty feet may find stability,
nor am I the svelte key to dissipate any and all resistance to your god-given right to happiness,
nor can I entice you successfully from all the obstacles you have constructed
precisely for someone to lead you through.
And in all of this you are mistaking my momentary passing
for a longing glance in your direction.
Like the bile in my throat, all the Valentine's hearts and roses on anniversaries that
have been force-fed to you from an early age ring out
as you call y name, your voice cloaked in what you thought was love.
and I hear only the clang of my heels upon the pavement.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
I've felt a lingering, encompassing contentedness
and I only hope she will stay.
I woo her like I would
a friend, I brew her coffees and teas and
we speak of the world in terms of
relativity and we laugh.
There is the most catalystically crucial point:
we laugh and laugh at all that
once seemed something
to be sorry for, or ashamed of, or
beneath our bustling cognizance.
Our jocundity is riddled with shining
jewels of barbaric opulence as I frantically
bare my canines in a persuasive exclamation.
I hope she'll stay,
but to receive and not give would never convince her.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 10:43 PM UTC
i know that i am on the cusp of something
the graceful lip
and with each passing second
i am leaving the person i once was
my fingertips dwell on hers,
clammy- i liked her very much
and i try to shake my views
of myself as a battered frisk upon
the roiling waves of circumstance
beneath my quaking keel
i'm behind glass,
enclosed with condensation
with each of my ragged inhalations
and with chipped nails
i sketch pictures of who it is
that i want to be
but, still, i cannot quite make her out-
the lines are blurred and
my breath erases her
i am unable to see the future clearly
if i truly live
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
He danced in light, son of the Wind,
And colored the minds below.
She was too deep, locked in herself,
But he still had inarticulately tried
To convey his longing in light.
When he asked the girl
What her name was, she replied,
"I am the Marianas Trench,"
And he blinked, smashing lashes
In a vain effort
To extract an answer not forthcoming.
She gazed blankly, concealing
Three million dying hopes
Faintly sparkling within her depths.
He bashfully cast his eyes
Downward to conceal his own
Inner turmoil.
"I am the Aurora Borealis,"
He finally yelped as his fingers drummed
Notes in the tension between them.
A light flickered across her
Black eyes, flitting to his own.
Quickly extinguished, it
Carried within it her slipped
Composure and raw yearning.
He drew breath, and the coronas
Of his eyes slid to meet hers,
Blank once more.
Before she could bolster
Her dwindling courage,
He was leaving, taking with
Him all her color.
"Don't!" She pleaded.
Her cheeks flushed magenta.
He blanched, his eyes dark.
But he was far from her,
Shrouded in light
That could never color
The stone walls she built.
Miles high, she hoped
They touched his sky someday.
Until then, she was hidden,
Sound, and he was brilliant, lost.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 2:35 AM UTC