Docks look like a beautiful painting- which took
a hundred years to make.
Seagulls swooping overhead-
and the salty smell of
the ocean
waves covering me.

Do something you’re afraid of
[fall]

Like the night I lay my head on your shoulder,
I needed you to stay alive,
I needed you in order to stay alive.
The night we saved each other’s lives.

It was everything,
and your heart kept beating (against my ear)
and the tv talked to itself.
We went to sleep afraid that it was nothing.



Like that night you told me you were in love with me.
It was nowhere special.
It was the couch in your room.
And thats what made it real.

I said nothing back
and the trees tapped against the window
and eyes around the world were closing.
I did not speak, but I kissed you.



Like the night you drove me home
after the world broke our hearts.
It was 1am
We were two, two was one, and one was alone.

I wanted to stop moving
and the floating snow brought silence in through the open windows
and the street lights made moving shadows on your skin.
The earth moved as black pavement rushed beneath us.



Like tonight as the weight of moments that were years is breaking our necks.
I’ll pick up my eyes and look at you
waiting for me in the openness of the street
brighter than a star.

Standing there like an open door
and the wind is blowing through your hair
and when every breath is a leap of faith,
I will never stop falling.

The World
The World falls around us
And shrapnel
Shrapnel rips through the air
And we stand
Cause there is no hiding
But love
Love will shelter us there

And we kiss
As if nothing has happened
And the bombs
Fall far to the side
And the bullets
Dont seem so frightening
And nothings so striking
As the slowing of time

And the Night
The Night falls around us
Breaking away
To the dawns coming light
As the smoke
The smoke settles around us
Still we stand
To the defeat of both sides

Dann sind wir helden
Nur diesen tag

And we are then Heroes
For only this day

Time is measured
in problem sets and exams
birthday parties and housewarming parties and frat parties
going out to eat with chattering friends,
anxiety in the wait for the week’s end,
finding the time for peace in ‘alone’
or calling our parents up on the phone.

Specific occurrences far from each other:
Weeks.

... or daily:
Watching each minute slide by,
Digits slipping one by one
Into ever-so-slightly increasing quantities.
Like a microscopic tortoise
on an infinitely stretching number line,
Moving steadily,
always so steadily,
toward the invisible finish line.
Why?

You're hurtling down the runway and you're scared.
Taking off, 45 degrees above horizontal
until you can't hear anything but
the rumbling thunder of the engine and
the hissing air of the cabin.

One glance out the window
and your eyes widen in shock at the entirely new world.
A city of spun wool and wispy cotton candy,
piled snow and gigantic foamy marshmallows,
solid white mountains and hills of soft fluff.

You want to jump on them,
roll around and off their feathered slopes,
Pet, stroke them,
lie with them forever and tell them all of your secrets
because they are your best friends.

Be careful, though.
For clouds are a mean and sneaky illusion,
and the very second you touch them,
they'll melt into nothing,
break apart in your fingertips.

You will fall thousands of feet back to Earth with
your heart in your mouth,
a silent scream caught in your lungs.
Dazed, dying, you'll look up,
no longer able to see the world of your dreams.

With your last breath, you can only watch
the clouds laugh and wave a careless good-bye
as the transparent drifters move on,
blowing away faster than smoke,
off to catch the next unsuspecting dreamer.

A whispered call to distant dreams,
  And sheltered baths in quiet streams.
The measure of a person's worth,
  My thoughts the minute after birth.
The bitter irony of a bitter end,
  A parting chuckle for a fallen friend.
Just ninety minutes in the sun,
  The breakfast of a lonely nun.

A symbol for the morning after,
  The memory of my father's laughter.
One season with no trace of water,
  The necklace that I never bought her.
Things I've said to peoples' pets,
  The hope on which I've hedged my bets.
An apology that's not been made,
  A favour I have not repaid.

The reason for a burst of anger,
  That one song I never sang her.
All forgiveness ever asked,
  All the glory in which I've basked.
All the wisdom I have earned,
  All the bridges I have burned.
And the finest of this short selection:
  The attainment of perfection.

For all the trinkets life has brought,
  There are many that I hadn't sought.
But as my tree keeps gaining rings,
  I must keep room for useless things.

Some movie on Lifetime
ends itself.
I feel like i should
push these keys again
and try to make
some sense of self…
but overall i’m disappointed
because I know that it’s not self
that i’m trying to make sense of.
I’m trying to make sense of this computer,
and the sewing machine
on the table next to it,
and the air conditioning,
and whether or not it’s acceptable
to mention modern innovations
in poetry.

For example, if,
in a poem alone
(because i can talk to you through other mediums),
i tell you
(we’ll get to who you are in a bit)
that i
(don’t worry about who i am)
texted a girl,
(and she’s just as nameless as you are)
does the fact that i mentioned something modern
detract from the significance of the poem?

Of course,
poetry is all about the use of words as well
(sometimes we hang them from the walls
just to see how they make us look),
so i guess really the question is
whether or not
you managed to make it all work
in a way that makes sense to you.

Because honestly it’s worthless what I have to say;
you’re constructing these phrases
piecemeal
(in your head)
as we
(yes,
i’m there too)
push the buttons
(ahh, can you feel it?)
on this computer
to make us
spit out
images.

Haha,
psyche.
these are just black specks
on a white background;
our mind only attempts to give them significance
because we lack it as well.