though never a twin,
and ever more than a token,
she was the prettiest mirror
I ever wanted broken
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
I wake to remember
my sunroof is open.
I wake to leave words on the path.
I wake like a gardener
illiterate in Nature,
who nonetheless prays for the math.
The Solemn shows Wicked
the chess pieces burning.
a light that gives fuel is its task.
I wake just to tell you
my sunroof is open.
My words, as the rain's, not to last.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
a thoughted beast,
neither poet, nor man,
let his words construct themselves.
without a care to show
on sheet or screen, (let them),
no need to be, or grow.
with arms to forget
under closing eyes,
with a prize of
only silence,
like the shushing grass,
unaware
of even its green.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
Its name is bee.
Its name is fly.
It lands near me,
To catch my eye.
On coffee lid,
On wiper blade,
In barefoot Sun,
Or shoe in shade.
A wrinkling skin,
A finger still,
Remembered breath,
An open will.
It cleans its wing
With steady cause.
I'll take no life
That gives such pause.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
It was on our lips.
(And) the downturn was everything.
'why wouldn't you think rocks could be green?'
You turned from the ships like a foam-latent cold.
The snaps-onlooked couldn't believe.
'stop wading, my love,
we're not here to understand'
We're here to look.
We're here to love,
and then leave.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
I want to be
the bee that I see
on the small purple flower.
So many eyes, until
there are no others.
a breath and a buzz and a dip.
Nothing left,
but little lessons for
drawing Love's gauge.
stepping light,
cleaning wings,
moments and more
and more.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 1:10 PM UTC
I thought you were gone,
but what was there
to begin with?
There were no mirrors, or windows,
only the air that rests
between leaves,
no wind,
save what we made ourselves.
A few roots though,
for a token's sake, and
an illusion's speech.
Entwined like those
two wolves of lore.
Little pities-
we burned minutiae,
and made nothing of the forest.
Mar 20, 2014
Mar 20, 2014 at 1:07 PM UTC
oh, to be smart(;)
as one thinks
one sounds
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
yes, simple enough,
to not think or want
as the Sun, to
not convolute
happy little
mirrors.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 4:04 AM UTC
acceptance lay
in the meadow
beyond all reaping
whether growth
be tended or not
hearts in the long grass
bliss be found amid
shadow and sun both
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 4:01 AM UTC