Some days I feel
like a guitar
that is missing
a string.
It sounds sad
but I assure you
it’s okay.
And I’ll never know
the sound that string sings,
but my foolish heart
believes that string
is the one that says everything;
the one that puts me in the veins
under your skin,
between the synapses that fire
in your mind,
between your inhale
and exhale,
and on the tip of your tongue,
so that I can taste you
before my moon
splits in two.

Only her evergreen eyes
and painfully pink lips
can pull an object,
a young fool,
14 floors towards the earth,
faster than gravity.
The longest day of the year
had a clock that was criminally
insane,
the hour hand
moved like a propeller
of a plane,
and flew me to somewhere
that felt familiar
but I’ve never been.
And the moon I told her
that was mine,
really belongs to her.

The Fernet-Branca,
sipped slowly,
seems to go well
with the pack of yellow American Spirits,
though I usually go with
the light blue pack.
Yellow does the trick tonight.

From the 14th floor
the city lights of Denver
are blurry.
So are the morning emails,
the slot for quarters
on the laundry machine,
the cars that pass on 8th
headed to wherever,
and you.

The ***** dishes sit in the sink,
piled up,
like the thoughts in our skulls
or feelings in our fingernails.
And sometimes we clean them,
but more often than not they just sit there,
in the sink, in our kitchen, in our cold
little apartment on Pennsylvania street.
And we pass each other in hallways,
saying something like "hello" or "how's it going?"
or maybe nothing at all.
The ambulances drive by
and sometimes we hear them,
but mostly we pay no mind.
The nightly news plays in the background,
but I don't know what they are saying anymore
because I can't distinguish the news anchor's
words from the ambulance siren.
And we gaze through our microscopes,
looking at the content of our lives
on a fragile glass slide
upon which squirm the infinitesimal
bacteria that we took from the sink.

Put me on a stage
and give me the whole orchestra
to amplify the melody
of hazy lungs and mind,
let it drown out the static of our lives
so that I can act
just for a moment
like I'm someone else.

There was a poor
shepherd boy
who used to throw
stones at the castle
walls every day.
Every day
he would return
with pockets full
of stones,
and the walls
would stand there
mocking him.
But it was futile,
despite all of the
stones he'd thrown,
the walls continued
to stand
and the king
continued to oppress
his kingdom.
In throwing stones,
the boy had garnered
quite the arm.
One day
he came to the walls
with pockets
full of seeds.
He threw the seeds
over the walls,
and trees
and flowers
started to grow
on inside of the
castle walls.  
The king became
quite distraught about this
and ordered his servants
to pick every newly sprouted
plant out of the ground.
But they could not keep up.
The boy threw more and more
seeds every day,
and the plants started overtaking
the castle.
Birds, butterflies,
and other creatures
invaded the castle.
The castle became so infested
with life,
that the king could no longer
do anything about it,
and the roots of the trees
started to grow into
and fracture the castle walls.
And little by little those walls
crumbled.
And by the time they did,
the king did not care,
his castle was more
beautiful now
than it ever had been.
Once the walls fell,
the king could see
all of the people outside
of them.
The king finally understood.

There are 7.6 billion people
In this world.
Behind every set of eyes
A different universe.
I’m in love with yours
But not you
Anymore.
You made mine
*****.
The strings
Of lights
On the trees
Make me sad.
We put them up
In December
And they make us feel
like basement
Temperature
Flat beer juice,
And then January comes
Like law enforcement
To the rager you held
While your parents
Were in Doore County.
And everyone leaves the party.
And we all take the lights down.
This is
1 of 7.6 billion.