Like I am treading lightly on snow wanting to leave no prints.
Like feeling my hand tense up holding a pen too tightly, and then wringing it out.
Like pouring water into a glass and seeing it drip down the pitcher’s outside.
Like the hum of a middle-letter against my teeth.
Like the words used explaining something to a stranger’s child.
Like feeling cloth on a body part that can’t feel.
Like touching my lips with a hand that’s asleep.
Like the compressed air noise before I shut the last bit of car window.
Like the hot metal radiator lines denting my skin.
Like fabric marking my cheek when I sleep.
Like the low of my back hot after a nap
Like trying to find a cozy way to lean in my coat.
Like the silence when an unnoticed heater shuts off.
Like the way dried wet-paper wrinkles and stands.
Like a tea bag set out from steeping, now cold.
Like ******* on a lemon slice, and swallowing a seed.
Like listening to filter noises underwater in the pool.
Like the screeching of a T car dulling to a rumble.
Like a sigh after a confession.
Like the sound a fly makes hitting a wall.
Like not remembering what day of the week it is out of school.

I like it.

I would never use butterflies
to describe how you make me feel:
Too predictable.

I would never use the weather
to describe our times together:
Too consistent.

I would never use love letters
to describe our conversations:
Too eager.

I would never use poetry
to describe how you make me feel:
Too bad.

I want to be cool
Like ice, no, like
Breeze- unattached.

I want to breathe life
Into others’ lives-
Bring them to tears.

Apathy is cool
When you don’t care
To get hurt or pain.

Passion is cool
When you give life
To things through your pain.

Sunshine is cool
And you bring light and
Cast it through the panes.

Cloudiness is cool
And you fog up and
Distort, to question things.

What is not cool
Is effecting nothing;
Then you are nothing.

What is not cool
Is feeling nothing
When no one cool’s around.

i walk a fine line
drawn between challenging read
and scrambled word-hash;
incomprehensible and
sharp-edged cutting clarity

Their thunder mutters darkly and their lightning stings the ground,
as each Cloud curtly drops the rain that falls, relieved,
to kiss the safe ground far below...
til Wind, the sentry, rises high
and drives them on their blind and probing way.
They wander, searching for the sea.
On finding it, they'll feast again,
regain their towering strength...
Return to cross the Land once more — their ageless obstacle.

You remember that empty winter
Tasted like gin on my breath where it hung,
drops of moisture in the air.
J’ai coupé mes mains sur la glace

Mais mignon, tu es froid,
Et mes bras ne peut pas vous réchauffer.
Nous parlons les mots glacées,
Et ils éclatent dans la nuit brumeuse.

De whisky de vin de gin tonic
Comme les bouteilles, tu seras épuiser.
Alors, qu'est-ce que tu feras?

And those things we say, love
They froth and drip from our mouths
Down our chins and onto the wet snow.

He looks through the window
He looks at me
I wave at him
He leaves

I wave again
The next day
He leaves

I wonder why he looks at me...

The next day I see him again...

I wave...

He doesn't leave...

I turn around and there he is...

The man who never waves is standing next to me...

I scream and run but it is to late...

Because now I don't wave or move at all