Your crooked smile flows upward
and I can see it from the ground.
Haunting myself with
a film teacher's creature feature
in black and white,
an old orchestra for sound.

You said you'd get nervous
when on our clunky telephone;
saying that customer service
could hear the fibers
in your voice
rustle like tall, dry grass,
with a wind whispering through
confirming, with every breath,
that you feel alone.

We'd recite fifties sitcoms:
Honey, do you --
do you have the keys?
Well, gee whillikers,
I could use someone to
open me, close me, and
dispose of me, please.

I write this for no one,
which is the category you fall in.

Sincerely,
signed Issues,
P.S. The television
is in color,
and I don't miss you.

- There ain't hope in the U,
the S is for Show me your soul,
the A is for Always forget:
the United States of
Killing it, Killing it -

They are the heart givers
and the breath takers
without them I cannot live
but just like my exgirlfriend
they can't seem to find
where they left their compassion.

I cannot breathe
but that is only because it cost too much to live
understanding their desire of money
it pains me to know greed
not of my own will be the cause of my death.

That in my generosity I forgot
planting trees does not grow the greens they seek
and the carrots sprouting are ones they eat
not the ones they don't wear to the office
but dance around their family with.

Education was supposed to be their gravity
and with each ounce of knowledge
built an anchor to the moon
because instead of humanity
they've become a celestial star
whose imagination wanders
outside the orbit of those who may be suffering.

A broken hearted soul
paves the waiting room with their corpse
because while in the void
something had to go and
it wasn't the money
but a man that couldn't
afford to keep his heart going.

These bristles twinge my hide,
For a second I worry of looking a poor shave.
I chuckle;
No one to impress now, silly.

I look down,
For a second I worry of looking a poor dress.
I chuckle;
Chairs aren't meant for standing,

                                                      ­                                                 I'll fix that,  love.

Better than a speech of a thousand vain words is
one thoughtful word which brings peace to the mind.
Better than a poem of a thousand vain verses is
one thoughtful line which brings peace to the mind.
Better than a hundred poems of vain stanzas is one
word of the dharma that brings peace to the mind.

Finding that balance between what feels good and what you need is harder than picking out an outfit in the morning.
Unless those outfits are all pretty slutty.
Then it's about the same,
the main difference being there's no real good solution.
Just a bad idea,
and a worse idea.
A low cut dress with no bra
Or a ruler width mini skirt over a thong.

I have always been a fan of extremes
so, I guess, between what I want
And what I need.

I'd wear the same outfit every day until it ripped,
got lost
or didn't fit me anymore.

And then I wouldn't wear anything.

In moody silence, nursing my shallow bruises
I sat outside in the graying hours of the night
Staring into the cloudy night sky
With nothing to cheer my sullen spirit

My hair left in shabby mess,
By the mischievous passing breeze
My thoughts slipping out of focus,
Like tiny specks of leaping fleas

A circular face full of sheen,
From behind the nebulous veil,
Showed up all too sudden
Looking at me with a beaming smile

I thought of a thousand smiles
Which kindle and illumine the universe
The love hidden in all things
That eclipses all bitterness and curse

Like ripples in a still pool
Caused by pebbles hurled
By the naughty kids’ wanton hands
A strange sensation unfurled

Tearing down the pall of gloom
Wavelets of cheer grew
Coming off in wider circles
Changing my mindscape into brighter hue

A new moment was born
And in the ceaseless beat of my heart
I sensed a new rhythm,
And knew all my dullness depart!