I see now
The beauty that hides
At the bottom of
A wine bottle

Siren calls in
The vibrations under
My skin

It's a very tempting
Sort of numbness
That almost supersedes
My will to persevere

How rose like
It all feels

It will not claim me,
But at least now I understand
The motivations
Of those around me
Who had given in.

Did your heart stop
From the alcohol
Or the memory of my disdain?

Did it shatter
Or freeze in motion?

My mouth turns into cotton
And my eyes into glass
At the thought that I may
Have been the cause of your
Broken heart.

In Pantheon roars,
We shouted
And threw boulders
In the night
Where the sirens
Were our only witnesses

-----------------------

Give me back the mornings
Of quiet snow and soft music

The yawning sun, not quite
Awake

Give me the solitude, the
Fleeting moments of sanctuary
So I may find myself a saner
Sort of clarity

There is peace in snow

-----------------------

I once wrote on unrequited love: "This is going to take some time."

It's felt like lifetimes.

-----------------------

If it hurts to hear
Your heart beating,
What was it that
I wanted, then?

If I ran away again,
What would happen then?

What would happen, then?

There are days where I sit on my porch
And watch the sun hang in a low,
Lazy bauble with
Spun sugar lacing the sky

There's a day I've set up a lamp
I've bought for myself
And then wash the dishes
Where pomegranate scented bubbles
Soak my rolled up sleeves

Days I force myself to do laundry
Because I hate the monotony of it
The necessity of it
Even though it's a breath of fresh air
When done

Days of filling the silence with
Gentle croons of blues and jazz
And the feeling of wet, cold paint
Between my hands and a canvas
Or the stickiness of cookie dough
Between my fingers
And the wash of heat against my face
When the oven door opens

In these small ways, somehow,
I am healing,
Though I do not know what from

Just that these scars are paling
If only a little
And the pain in my chest settles
Into something like an echo
Or a memory
Something tolerable

Something bearable.

These words are fingerprints;
A momento of the fleeting seconds
Where I overflow with emotion
Like a glass under a faucet.

True, these portraits are usually
A collection of broken mirrors,
But let me write when I am howling
At the moon in my car
As the man on the radio makes love
To his microphone
And the glow of streetlights light
The path home.
Let me write when the floors are clean,
Lemon cleaner and sunlight pouring in,
And I'm trimming the ends of flower stalks
For a vase that paints these walls of mine "home".

I am not entirely fragmented.
My ankles may weaken
And my spine my stiffen
And static might overwrite my thoughts
When the sun retires,
But against everything, I stand.

I stand.

You tell me everything I want to hear
And I want it, I want your words so bad

Every fiber of my insecurities tell me
That You're selling me snake oil
And I'm buying in bulk

Everything tells me that no matter
How honest I am with you,
I still feel like I'm lying.
Is it wrong to enjoy someone
Thinking You're beautiful?

My head tells me humility
Is the same as cutting something
Out entirely even though it'll save
Your life
Because it's not worth saving.

My head tells me that It's
Impossible for someone to
Give me a compliment
Because they simply only see
What I'm showing them.

My head tells me I'm not
A good person, I'm just pretending.

I still need to find this off switch.

It's safe in daylight, you know.

I drive through my crumbling suburbia
Over all of its bumps and cracks
And feel so small, yet so
Infinite.
Feeling loosely connected
To every signpost,
Every stray cat,
Every filled and vacant house.
Part of a chain that runs its course
Across the entirety of existence.
I am a spectator, an observer of
Humanity though, admittedly,
Not quick to a level conclusion of it.

Yes, days are safe. They are familiar.

But it's dusk where the malaise sets in,
A disturbance that unsettles the muscles
Under my skin
And has me toss and turn for hours on end.
It's night where I trip barefoot
Over every folly,
Every small tick in the course of my life
In a path strewn with broken glass.

It's where the realms between your sanity
And where your demons sleep
Grow the weakest,
Churning your head with static and poison
And constantly reminding you
How easy it is to find your own faults,
How difficult it is to say,
"I love myself."

I wonder most nights when this all started.

I wonder every night when it'll stop.

Sky's caged in bars of wire
But my God, it's still so
Beautiful.

Slumped against a city wall
In this ghost I call a
Home

Moldy bricks and jagged cracks
And gasoline rainbows
And construction orange
Mottling all the grey.

Keep writing, she thought;
Keep writing and eventually
You'll find something
Beautiful

This dismal face softens
And flushes with just a touch
Of life.

Turmoil broke like a fever
And trickles of security
Bled through the cracks.

I lit a lamp instead of sitting
Here in the darkness I've become
So accustomed to.
Lukewarm light isn't much
But it's enough to go on.

My heart never stopped but now
It's beating with a purpose.
Not one of affection,
Not one of intimacy,
But for the pursuit of living
I've been putting off for so long.

Maybe I'm fine. Maybe everything's fine.

This Colorado song
Means nothing without
You here.
I'd give back
Every mountain
Just to hold you near.

I may be silly
And my head may be
In the clouds,
But I feel I'm
Lost in a crowd
Without you around.

This Colorado sky
Seems pointless
Without your song,
And smiling at
Every sunrise
Suddenly feels so wrong.

But I'm sure I'll forget you;
You'll be a memory
From long ago.
Like the time I spent
On a train
Breezing through Colorado.

Hazy summer dreams of Independence Day,
Sitting in a field and an alcove of trees
Watching fireflies and fireworks
With nothing but a peace pipe and the pleasure
Of each other's company.

Four in the morning blues
Writing music inspired by
The light reflecting off her box wine,
Bird feathers and new frontiers.
Four in the morning band practice
Where the kitchen was filled with
Jaw harps and nose flutes and ukuleles.
She hated the fact that the string bassist
Parked right in front of the fridge.

Sun-drenched days of exploring
And picking mulberries from the
Fallen tree at the creek.
They tried to make pen ink from it,
Once.

Dreams of open mic nights with
Milkshake stouts and summer sweat
But never once complaining
Because the air felt so electric
And full with the sound of kindred souls.
Place closed down since then,
But she won't forget the time she was
Asked to stay on stage when her set was done.

Maybe they're all romanticized, but
These memories stick like push pins
In her mind, in her heart.
There was something more authentic
About it all -
All those days of watching
Fireworks and fireflies.
Something real, and true.
Something changed, shifted in the universe.

Maybe it was her.

Hair trailing like jet streams
As tiny shoes skim the grass.
Don't know where she gets
The breath in her lungs to
Keep her going.
She'll need it for all the cushion
It'll give when she crashes into
Her daddy's arms to have it
Squeezed all out of her.

                                                It's always the moments few
                                             and far between

Keep low, her momma said,
When the sirens wail and they're
Shining that light through the blinds.
She keeps real still when red flashes
Blue even now.
Holds her breath and waits for
The light to blind her again.
Just a habit.

The drawings looked so funny
When they were done.
A sort of dark humor with the
Look of shock scribbled on her face
In cerulean blue.
Never liked blue but the shade
Always caught the girl's eye.
Her momma deserved that color.
Her daddy's car was colored orange.

They thank heavens it wasn't red.

"You can't Change it.
You can't Control it.
You can't Convince him.
But you can Cope."

Told her to repeat it like a mantra;
Post it on a wall
Let it spill like a holy verse
Until you believe it.
She wasn't one for God anyway.

                                                But what if I wanted to try?

Air around him isn't so stale now.
Frowned upon to have a beer
At an alcoholic's wake.
She wondered if this is how it would
Have smelled.

She barely knows the people in this
Room.
They're chatting about church and
How he was so great.
But she'll bet her last dollar
That they hadn't seen him sober
In years.

Hell, neither had she.
                                                *All I can do now is cope.

Just a wind that blows
On a fair summer's day.
No rhyme or reason
To my lovely, restless way.

Gentle sky filled with blue
Got my head stuck in a cloud.
But when the sky loses her light
And the dusk turns into night
Is when I'll finally speak
Aloud.

And I'll wonder,
"When will it be
'Til the silence
Finally sets me free?"
And I'll wonder,
"When will it end -
The bittersweet memories
That only time can mend?"

'Cause time passed
Me by, instead.
Like the birds flying
Over my head.

Another day passed by.
Man, the air's sure getting warm,
So I'll wait by my window
For the oncoming storm.

That's when the clouds roll in -
A dusky grey that calms my soul.
And when the rain stars coming down
From the sky's cumulus crown
Is when I'll finally feel whole.

Let me dream
In a bed of ground ivy
And not be afraid of
The bugs scurrying
Through the earth.

Let me speak
In effervescence
So that I may believe
In the truths I tell
Myself.

And let these truths
Be sweet and firm
In their nature
Rather than weigh
Me down and wrap
Me in barbed wire.

Let my spirit be free
Of past transgressions.
Uproot my feet
So I may follow
The wind.

Somedays, I'm not
Sure why I come.
Strings of my feeble
Heart coming undone.
Frayed ends throbbing
Like the nicotine craving
In my head.

The sober call of
Loneliness from my
Drunken soul.
I speak to this here
Ukulele to feel a
Bit more whole.

But in the end, it's
Just an object that
Can't think or speak
Or feel,
And I wonder if
Anything I believe
In is real.

Some days, I'm not sure
Why I stay.
Something tells me I can't
Express myself, anyway.

Not in the way I
Want you to understand,
Anyway.

Sitting in these crowded places,
I'm a face in a sea of faces.

A face in a sea of faces.

I lie with eyes
Stinging with a lack of
Sleep, open with a
Burning gaze boring a hole
In my ceiling.

I had woken from a dream
Of a man with the skin tone
Of my morning coffee, and
A stare that stripped
My body from my
Quivering soul.

-------------------

Moments of slipping
Out of class to take
A peek at the dense
Fog rolling in.
Hovering above
The skin of our
Heads like a smoky
Halo of water
Particles.

The thick, grey air
Has probably never
Seen such a
Beautifully dead
City.

-------------------

With rooms shrounded in
Undertones of dull grey, what
Can I do but conceal my
Own color so that the walls
Don't steal it away?

I wish that this
Tension underneath
My skin could just
Seep out of my
Pores and alleviate
My soul from its
Unbearable pressure.
Let it trickle
Down and evaporate
Into the warm,
Sunny air.

The food had no flavor to it.
There must've been a spice somewhere
But all it did was sting her tongue.

There's noise, talking and television
And dog snores that she can't tune out
Even if it all blends together
Incoherently.

There's static in her brain,
On her palate,
In her ears.

And all the while she's screaming
While sitting silent in her chair.
Screaming in third person.
Screaming pretty words
Like a diary entry,
Saying, "O me, O my!
Look at these woes!"

Scorning those who build crosses to bear
When she's in the assembly line.
Hypocritical martyrdom.
Closet elitist.

Walking contradiction in every way.

I took off my blinders today.

I saw around myself
The life I neglected
In my tunnel vision,
The inauthenticity
Of my behavior.
I saw the box I so happily
Dwelled in and
Make-believed that I was
Doing something
Important.

I saw my hypocrisy in
Looking at others
And make-believing
I was made of
Something different.

Maybe I can be, now.

Your skin wasn't so soft
Not the softness you'd find
In great love stories

You didn't always have the
Words to say something
You fumbled with them
While I babbled

You snored -
Only a little, I promise

Yet in ways I found
Them so endearing
Perhaps it was just you
And I find myself
Tripping and tumbling
And scrapping ideas
Of not needing love
Or just not being aware

Because I'm just yearning
To brush against that arm again

Stories be ******

She's a hurricane,
A billowing chaos.
Streets away, you'll hear
The howls at her presence.
For miles you'll feel the air
Choke up.

Girl's dynamic in ways
Unique to this world.
Prominent in a way
I'll never be.

She's a tense muscle
That never relaxes;
A gun with a hairline trigger.
Longs for affection
And intimate hands
But shrinks away
In times of crisis.

For her, everything's a crisis.

Found her on the floor one night,
Lips blue,
Arm belted,
And the voice beyond the veil
Gargling in her throat.
She told me it was nothingness.

Certainly sounded like nothing good.

I've never known a darkness like hers,
Not really.
I don't think she's ever known my peace.

Not really.

Chisel silver into your tongue
And let words babble from it
Like a stream

Weave them into tendrils
And let them pull you gently
Into a dream

Silly girl, your loneliness
Knows no bounds in its
Hypocrisy

You snip the threads and
Let them drift away

And away

And away

Ghost of a memory
And that's all you aim to be

What in the world is a ten word poem, anyway?