I haven't written a poem in days.
I tell myself,
"These aren't the days you write, man -
these are the days you write about. "
Ok brain, that's cool and sounds
metaphorical and dark, I'll take it.
Then days turn into weeks, weeks into months -
And before I realize it, my stomach is
outside of my body - and mind,
wet, and cold among organs
pitifully trapped - I tell jokes
without punchlines, and dream without color - the food
doesn't taste like it used to, and the clouds
sometimes don't move for hours
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 4:24 AM UTC
Be happy with her.
Leave me alone to die,
with your broken song still inside of me.
Though its melody is now old,
and out of tune.
It still remains my favorite
sound.
Sandoval
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 1:43 AM UTC
the universe is cold
and stale and doesn't care
what we have in our homes, our hands
wallets syringes and pipes no hearts
no lungs or thoughts give meaning to
an empty darkness that drifts
along allowing what ever is to be to be
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 12:47 AM UTC
Don't quit your day job!
they said, when I was imitating stand up comedy
routines - and when I made her a stuffed
turkey - the time I tried backwards skating on a pale
blue pond - I could see this frozen
fish underneath wondering when I
will ever break this glass ceiling -
Life goes on!
they said, when she said we were no longer
going to be seeing each other on weekends, on phone
calls into the wee hours of twilight haze -
dull ***** on her cardigan, our footsteps in the streets
I saw your eyes in your hands and
my heart was in my lap -
I gave you a warm bottle of water, left
and never came back
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC
an idea isn't anything
if you can't
turn it into something
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 6:05 PM UTC
*They say it's me
that makes you do things
you might not have done
if I was away
and that it's me
that likes to talk to you
and watches you
as you walk away*
don't call me tomorrow
don't send me flowers
don't wish me all too well -
don't leave the sorrow
don't count the hours
just bask in your hell
*They say it's me
that makes you do things
you might not have done
if I was away
and that it's me
that likes to talk to you
and watches you
as you walk away*
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
it's almost 2 years
since i saw her last, -
her eyes in her hands
and my heart in my lap -
- it's been hours i can't count
and days since we spoke -
i read frequencies and signals
and drink in the smoke -
- and in early mornings, i glow with the stars, -
and nights, i get back late and sit in my car -
i think about her and how
it's almost been 2 years
Jun 19, 2017
Jun 19, 2017 at 6:21 PM UTC
The memories I have of her
are vivid - I recall meals we shared
years ago, the flavor in my mouth
is richer now, than it was then
The wine, pouring from her mouth
Like honey, like chopping onions
in the morning, I still hear her
knife hitting the board with each crack -
and when I woke up late, she said goodnight
Memories I have of her are volatile -
Like a red canister of gasoline
on my porch on the fourth of July
while birds build nests
I slowly burn myself to the ground
Jun 8, 2017
Jun 8, 2017 at 3:24 AM UTC
terror, terror everywhere
no time to stop and think
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 1:16 AM UTC
She - had a birthday recently,
and I didn't say anything.
She - got a new job recently, according
to LinkedIn.com, and I didn't say anything.
She - posted something ****** on Tumblr recently,
and I didn't say anything.
She - took a left on Main St. and stopped to get coffee,
(iced regular) - she paid cash, she dropped her straw
wrapper, she smiled and waved -
She - never saw me and I didn't say anything.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 11:51 PM UTC