Quit me the way
rain drops quit
the cloud from which
they came.
Back to the earth
you go,
I might plan
on visiting soon.
Might.

I wish that we were
bound by the pain
that we all share,
the way a drop of water
is bound to the ocean.
But we are not.
Instead, we wander
headless and heartless,
and chasing
the horizon of
our fellow human’s strife
proves futile
lest we recognize
that love is the only way
we will ever meet the sun
where it sets.

I took a sip of my beer
and then I said
to the monkey on my back,
“Nothing has ever hurt
so much in my life.”
He took a breath,
then a sip of his beer
and said,
“Ah, it must be love.”

What no one understood about her
was that all she wanted was to feel loved,
and none of those beds made her
feel that way.
She went to the highest mountains
and to the bottom of the ocean,
only to find fleeting satisfactions
that flew by like birds
too busy to stop and sing her a song.
Her eyes didn’t stop,
but the places that she looked
had no interest in making
a home for her.
It wasn’t until she found her goddess
in the mirror
that she went back to her own bed,
drifting in and out of the dream
that she lived;
drifting in and out of love
with herself and the world around her.

When she woke up
her heart was met with the song
of a bird that finally stopped
to sing her a song,
and I think I just might
keep singing to her
as long as the sun
continues to rain
down on her
and kiss the eyes
that had finally found
what she had been looking for.

I mowed the lawn yesterday
and it felt terrible.
This complacency
has made my feet heavier,
and though the road continues
I now walk it with cinder block slippers,
unsure of how much further
I’ll actually go.
I can feel a white picket fence
in my future,
trapping me in
and my dreams out,
coddling me
with the indifference
that trickles through
the cracks of our lives.
I feel myself becoming like
everybody else,
and I’ve never been so afraid in my life.

Sometimes it feels
like people are all the same,
and I don’t want to be like them.
Watch how they fight
because they think
they are different.

It’s the small things
that get us through
and eat us alive.