If we could bottle souls
(Like petrified coals
Of past lives and future sparks),
When would we uncork
The energy of the living?
A yearning beneath the seething
Of untapped existential angst.
A rush to restore
An end to eternal suspension
Entropy's 2nd law.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 1:51 AM UTC
It is easy to forget
what the heart can’t bear to remember,
and every time I slip into bed
with someone new
I hope she unpicks the uneven stitching
of thread of unfulfilled promises that
“Time will heal all wounds”
(it does not).
But you are no surgeon,
your hands are not deft
but as steady as my fluttering pulse.
Old wounds gape open;
I am all bones and deteriorated sinew
old and slow
so very cold
the spaces between failing organs bleed
congealing dreams going stale.
Still you try,
with each fresh incision
slicing away diseased tissue
excising decaying matter,
believing this patient will recover.
Time might heal all wounds,
yet still,
let’s keep the defibrillator close.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 10:58 AM UTC
The train pulls out of the station. The dull drone of its engine and the periodic thump of metal wheels meeting rail breaks accompanies the dusty scent of steam and burning coal.
The journey continues in silence, with him reclining backwards in his seat as she pages through his book. He stares into space, vaguely acknowledging the scores of faceless passengers and thinking about how they are all shared voyagers in time and space. She smiles at a witty line, and flips the page.
Brakes are applied, the train gently eases to a stop. Pistons sigh and coupling rods command the wheels to halt. She returns him the book, and a silence settles.
“See you when I see you,” she says.
He stood up, buttoning his navy flannel blazer.
“See you…if I see you,” He corrects, then leaves the carriage as the doors slide open.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 3:21 AM UTC
Do not mistake solitude for solace;
your mind is an empty room
all your hear
are the echoes of your thoughts
voiced by your inner voice
shouts bouncing off cranium
and rejected by
lips pressed together:
an adamant attempt
to hold your peace.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 4:10 PM UTC
You leave me,
believing in this eventuality:
that people will leave you
that I will leave you.
You just wanted to strike first.
Before you cast yourself away,
into endless horizon and ocean blue,
there is too much I want to tell you.
But no matter,
just remember
it was you, my love, who told me
that life is never about bobbing to passive waves,
but in forging a new wake
in this endless ocean of possibilities.
Your silhouette diminishes,
waves lap at these lonely shores
and I wonder if it is the weak
whom are not lonely.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 5:55 AM UTC
Feast your eyes
on this!
100% Super One-Twenty,
Windowpane, chalk-white,
on a navy backdrop.
Fully Canvassed, mind you,
for the elegance of the suit
is dictated by its drape,
the structure the cloth streams
from shoulder to waist.
Here!
Do you see it? No?
The shoulder, it’s expression:
Spalla Camicia!
Simplification of the cumbersome Neapolitan,
shedding all the padding
of the English shoulder.
(Padding, I emphasize,
is for insecure prepubescent girls.)
Ah, but the star of the show,
the six by two,
the armour of choice of all dandies,
the de facto of the eternally stylish,
the double breasted jacket!
Shoulder wide peaked lapels
drawing horizontal lines
that elongate the torso,
nipping the waist.
(And as they say,
I like my jackets like
I like my women:
Double-breasted.)
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
In the dark abyss of night,
we quietly wait
for the inevitable gold of sunrise.
Like fresh wood fed
to dying embers;
our sparks renewed with light.
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 6:48 AM UTC
In truth, I know naught. Why I am so sad?
It worries me; you say it wearies you.
In lieu of times much simpler much happier;
sandbox wars, creaking swings, afternoon swims
we’ve essays, tutorials and internships,
then sales meetings, social events and the
occasional blind date. Entwined by work
and a distinct loneliness, we clutch at
fragile things, irrational whims; silence
rings a mutual suffering. So bring me
back to bygone days, revisit the ways
you raced me to the pool, we crafted sand-
castles, walls higher than Jack’s bold bean-
stalk, we tried coaxing winds to whistle as we
reached our toes to touch the sky, to dream of
walking the moon, firefighting, saving
animals, or even following Tom
Sawyer into his cave in search of gold.
So, darling, take me back to the past, what
gilded sands of time cannot quite bury,
to reclaim the lost innocence of a
spotless mind, to relive a time when life
was not measured by schedules, to regret
ever saying: “I can’t wait to grow up”
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 8:18 AM UTC
Sleep eludes;
Insomnia.
Hands tick on;
the night sleeps.
Somewhere, someone is waking
Here, I am writing.
Sleep eludes;
yet the night sleeps.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
One reason why we fall
in love is because we want someone
to accept the person we are
because we, ourselves, cannot do so.
There is so much I feel but
cannot begin to describe them with words,
maybe shattering,
bleeding and
loss
can begin to point at my pain.
It is that which defines me,
molded me
into who I am. And ,
so its absence
is accompanied with a disorientation;
of lost identity.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC