Gnash and Gnaw
a story book
of semantically related tales.

Troublesome twosome
words that stitch
a crossword of misrepresentation.

Incredibly Inedible
plasterboards
of unrequited dining.

Grotesque - ******
inevitable
struggles of theocracy.

Grace and _
spared from false
synchronicity.

I would have really liked
just doing laundry and taxes with you.

We're near the avocados
and I can't help but tease you
"when are you going to make the avocado dish"
it's with a sly smile I ask this.

I can't resist,
seeing your little dance
your face scrunched
and you're flustered -
"we'll get them right now, so I can make it this time"

"No, no."
"We'll get them next time"
but really I don't like avocados
it's just part of the fun.

You drop some blueberries into the cart
"they're good for the heart".

I think what makes me the most sad is the world doesn't care how good of a person you are.

You can shake hands with all the people who are homeless named Mic, who fondly remember Mel Brooks movies, and you'll still find yourself left behind just like them.

Complimenting women's nails for their sense of style or telling the cashier at the dvd store that his up-sell is really good and it nearly got you with their sense of flow.

You never take their offer of coupons as what's the point on collecting relics of a time we've all already left.

Strong, sturdy, and silent is what the past is made out of, as there is nothing left to break the illusion of today.

Sturdy for no one has found a way to bring all their passion home.

Time can only stand still, and all we can do is move on.

A kindness forgotten: soft words and thoughtful intentions are what make me the most sad.

I'm a brick layer
by incarnation
by aspiration
by luminosity.

I find unfinished buildings-
toppled skyscrapers-
imaging their foundations
their structural intelligence.

With a brick here
and some love there;
once demolished
can be reassembled.

I'll reconstruct
your finest details,
the youthful aspirations
of an idyllic generation.

Too naïve to
understand that unforgiving
weather can happen
to even the kindest of buildings.

New Job.
New Drive.
New Interest.

It's all so new,
yet so-so familiar.

All there is, the heat -
encased in a fireplace
or a furnace.

Smoldering,
the ashes
never filter through
these windless lungs,
instead of oxygen
the flame kindles
on anxiety.

Life is going splendidly - no hiccups -
Breathing is easy
but all that rushes in
is the flagrant blossom
of ragged thoughts,
all the possibilities
for how helpless
the wind is
when it's always being
knocked out.

If I wrote my will
I'd leave everything I have
to a magpie,
they have a beautiful intelligence
something rarely seen
in any kind of species.

Of course this little bird
doesn't know
this old moss for much,
I am green,
clashing against
our wooden encagements.

A silent observer
to their fluttery exuberance
where it is impossible to tell
the crescendo of wind
from the absence
of feeling.

overwhelmed by longing
unable to fly
blurred beyond recognition
no longer watching

love you not
love me not
it is here
the will is written
please take it all.

Going in multiple directions
is touted to be better than one;
it's better to have two hands than one,
a double rainbow is twice the taste.

My two ways are
the hard way or no way;
I'm a car that will speed
down the highway going 100mph
to a destination I've never heard of
with a turnout sign that hasn't been made.

I'm a stalled out car on a hill.
I'm a little beater car that should have
been lifted for spare pieces years ago,
but instead of caring for my parts
I've made myself die on a mountain
made out of molehills.

I can drive myself hard in either direction
both of them end up with me digging dirt.
One I'll bury all of my ideals,
and the other I'll dig up all the reasons
I never should have been driving in the first place.