Out the window
(Speckled glass)
Lives being lived
(I'm sitting on my ***)

On the kitchen clock
(When will I paint these beige walls?)
Time being ticked.
(So it goes, after all)

And even on the street,
That kitchen clock does tick,
Madly, furiously ticking-too fast
As a life quickly fades
(But not mine this time)

We (and I) don't care
'Cause we weren't there
We(I)'ve no idea
How to feel.

One life's a tragedy
Two lives are jaw dropping.
A sports team is urban terror.
Fifty lives, a massacre,
And at one hundred it doesn't matter anymore

Rest in peace,
Dear lives seen
(On speckled glass)
I'm not afraid to die|
           Because humans are bad at counting.

I didn't know

     after all those band-aids we so
    painstakingly crafted for each other years
       years ago
                           yours had fallen off

    I wish you I wish you
      I wish you had told me sooner it's
not
     the best time to get a call like that in
            a sunny dog park
          
            but I will be there for you if you're here
                there for you when you leave
             there for you PERIOD.

                    nothing will change that

  It's funny, no matter
            how long I rub my eyes, I can't seem to
      catch my breath catch it maybe nope

             I will be there tomorrow
                and we will talk about our past

and your future

Flawless
We like to think
our minds and their creations
can only be described as such, can
only be compared to perfection, machine-
made fabric and glass and hugs and love all
wrapped in cellophane and shipped (free of charge)
to Tahiti and Cozumel and other exotic places well-known
for their supposed perfection with brightly-lit, carpeted floors

                                                               ­                                            But our tendencies
                                                                ­                                           Mislead us

It is our flaws that define beauty when true heart is lost among neon
advertisements promising change and retribution only to deliver
the last things you'd expect, the last things anyone would
want: a remote-controlled vacuum, a light-up fish, a
sock that chills your foot rather than warm it in
the night. What a joke, what a sad turn in the
progression of our society. Flaws are and will
always be prominent parts of our lives with
good sound reason backing up this fact
It all comes down to whether you can
come to terms with the reality of
your situation and the little
scratches in your self-
image or whether
you will remain
content to fall
endlessly
into a
lie

You are a perfect branch
descending
from yourself.
I have been waiting
at your roots,
trying to find myself.  

Which part of your trunk
do I stem from,
I cry out to the moon.
Am I not a part of you
whose flowers
are in tune?

I am sharing needful moments
full of sensations anew;
becoming naked
with each breath I take,
singing a song
of truth.

Staring into forever
my heart pounds
with hopes and dreams.
I am waiting at your roots,
with beauty bursting
at my seams.

You are a perfect branch,
no need to conform.
I am here
serenading your roots
to become your flowers that adorn.

You are all I need,
when you look at me,  I am invincible.  
Hold me closer,
no need to chase,
more than once you have loved me
under the skies of yourself.

A mere whim would never
change my mind
but you wake me up
when your face
searches for release
in my eyes.

You are to the whole of my being
every moment I place
as precious
with the ink of my pen.  

I cannot let a single day go by
without touching the sands
we call ours
when they appear on the shores
of every part of me.  

You are all I need,
when you look at me, I am invincible.  
Hold me closer, your arms whisper
the rhythm of me.  

No need to chase, come and hold me
under the skies of yourself.
I want to linger here
Enclosed
in the love we make.

If we had our way, hidden lives and loves would
                                 up out of the ashes in which we
                    g                                           ­                   live
                n  
             i
        r
    p
S

                                                     So build me a staircase that

     retches           your
   t             u     to        be
S                  p                 au
t                                       t
   r                                   i
     a                              f
       e                         u
         h                     l
           -                 -
             g            b
               n       e
                  i   a
                    t
                        
and leave the love bit
                                  wrapped up between the
           two
          of us
                           like a warm sock on chilly winter toes