I’m just a man looking for a woman and a therapist
One to fix me, one to love me, in any order
And you, you’re just a lovely, sweet, spoiled
Left by a father, whose death ruined you
It burns like a wildfire, ebbing in all directions
Our duo resembles a bear and a bear trap
While the poacher of souls trains his stare on us
Chewing tobacco with a tear in his shirt
With a wife somewhere, with all her chords in the proper sockets
Bored, dumping her love down the sink with the extra beans
Running the water we’ve come to share like barroom jokes.
And back to you and me, it was only a month; and I loved you
You never knew, because stitches never love a wound
They fall away frivolously, and anonymous
Much like us, now, with alarms of harder times burning in our ears
Yet the sound never fades, it sticks around like the old friends
The ones who helped you before you were famous, or infamous
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
No one hears this or sees it at all
It's not life, sound, or feeling.
It's an absurd apology from an ancestor,
A silent delta supporting static streams,
A breeze displaced from intentional orbit.
On it we float, aimless as little baskets of Moses,
Destined for quarries filled with birth stones,
Passing stables, sprawling into sensible horizons,
Through fields of recirculating whispers, and beyond
The nebulous mountains of abstract memory.
This seismic world divides us, eventually
When we come to the coniferous death:
one emboldening, one defying the sovereign sun,
We lay down our life force--
-suspending the moments long enough
-excavating lives lost in massive capsized ships
-forgiving each other's steps in the inevitable fall
--and rest among the fertile, archived graves.
She visits there, laying a flower on each stone,
Replacing black with yellow, again and again.
An echoing gesture of love for us all,
The drifters outside of sight and sound.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 12:48 AM UTC
grandmother’s pond never moves
it’s alive, preserved inside her like a bubble.
an unknown aquifer, dreaming of us
no birds, no insects, no worms there
with a consistent season-less breeze
perpetually tousling the tangled grass,
her silver quivering hairs,
slow love rises from her porch perch
that chair rocks her into another time.
The Feather-fines hold the fences in place
a crown of thorns protects her herb garden,
she watches over those young, certain mountains
unaware of their Appalachian ancestors,
The Maple trees huddle, coveting their oldest memories
grandmother’s a stone, listening, under it all.
Nervous chewing college kids circle above her,
they think about this ancient perfect stillness,
this is her own the morning of the grandmother
her pond remains frozen glacier still,
her chair cradles the illness
we remember her well, the owl of the anonymous valley
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 2:32 PM UTC
From my window, I stare into the blue,
Without the faintest clue why,
You never come.
Time drips away.
My soulmate gone,
I’m not sure, she was ever here.
Lonesome George,
They used to call me that here,
Before I became the last.
The island fills with our empty shells,
I don't know how to escape it.
I dream of visiting the caves in France.
But I too, will soon become dust;
Perhaps, I already am.
Though when I taste the water, I do remember,
The feel of Fall's fluttering leaves, together.
And while the island washes us away,
My heart never forgets you.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
s
grateful
glass
rock
hurled
into
house of
stone
i
lone
box
forgotten
fallen
from
truck
s
wound
sealed
by soldier
with
single
sizzling
shell
t
bored
baby
waits
Mom
in room
with
white
walls
e
chicken
pickling
cars
curl
not to
crash
r
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC
MARITA
PLEASE FIND ME
I AM ALMOST 30
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
Found this older man
Sleeping in my bed…
I threw him out
And my day began.
He was pleased, I tied
His shoes: a small comfort.
He walked submissively,
Warmly greeting
His newfound life.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 11:24 PM UTC
I woke up an uncracked knuckle
Left the house late
Arrived early
My coffee shop closed
For good this time
The new tenants tried to sell me
On Reggae Dancercise
They explained they’d still have coffee,
A small conciliation.
I saw my sister, sat with her child
He ate cupcakes & distrusted me
For my gluten intolerance.
She is unimpressed with poetry
My sister, she falls for a Friday
I sit on a street in NoLita
It is wind-swept, as am I.
Wondering at this moment
When the next time I will
Touch hearts with another will be...
Not on this street
If today.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
Feeling the faces
I retract.
It’s not me
You want
It's my twin.
No one knows
It, but We
swapped
At birth
& have since,
Seldom seen
Or spoken to
One another,
But, I do know
Him, & can
Tell you, it’s
He you seek
not Me,
Feel free &
Have Him,
Because
I scarcely—
If ever—
Stand in His
Way, or
Share His
Shadow
Anymore.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 6:04 PM UTC
The problem is––
when I see your face
I see a question,
one
unanswerable to me
or to anyone.
Your eyes desire
this thing.
A thing physically
unpresentable,
and yet you are
undeterrable
in your quest
to possess
this "thing,"
which I can tell you
does not exist.
I am not it
yet somehow I feel
you see
me as a key
to "it"
and this
melts me,
because I too
once searched
but have since
ceased.
We both sought ((?))
but at different
times, now
we meet and some
comfort does lie
in knowing
people still
search.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC