I think plants live in slow mo
when we walk by
it's just a shimmer
like the last tendrils of a ghost
lazily dissipating in the night

I'm envious of playing cards,
played according to the game,
unashamed for following the rules.
The suites mix seamlessly,
pressed together to make the deck.
When they're drawn up
they're played immediately,
know their fate
when their face meets the light.
Then they lay discarded for awhile,  
before being shuffled up,
and brought back to life.

I have a hidden chest,
full with sorcerous wonders, a trove.
In a hallway, down a staircase,
through a maze chalked full with traps and danger.
My way to keep it safe
from prying hands,
the coin-filled eyes.
My prize, my treasure.
Is it better to keep under constraint or let it free?
How can I share it with the world,
and keep it all for me?

Water spills through boulders,
in no hurry to fill the watering hole below.
Fallen trees lean in,
stretching for a taste
of the cool liquid,
as if it could replenish their vitality,
stand them back up to their old grandeur.
Everywhere around them
humans splash in the pool
formed by the rocks,
causing a raucous,
their coolers, inflatable tubes, towels, beer cans, wrappers, bits of old food,
lay spread,
marring the landscape.
Do the fallen trees hate disrespect,
or are they satisfied knowing that, one day,
the human epidemic
will die.

You asked about the tattoo,
taken aback when it wasn't attached
to my two year, too much, relationship.
That's all I gave but you persisted
so the explanation that most people's guesses
missed it,
led to the part that no one fits in my heart,
and when they do
the same spot on my left arm will have a fresh,
brand new,
tattoo.

gazing at my front porch
I don't see an empty
concrete rectangle with one couch
I see plants sprouting up
I see deep talks with friends
sitting at night under the open sky
the palm trees wafting gently
I see a new chapter
full of laughter and growth
I see a little garden
that I can call
home

(temporarily)

Two months left sits in my chest pressing against my vital organs. Days play out like recordings on fast forward while I struggle to press pause. It may be best to cease this hiatus, yet part of me will miss this.
The watch on my wrist ticks ever on counting down the hours till I'm
gone...

I feel air currents
in my muscular system,
heart revving like
twin jet engines.
Cloud flurries
breeze down axons
but my body is buried
under thousands of tons
of *****, dead presidents,
eternal residents
anchoring my bird-like
being.

It's been four days
**** free
only had one respectable beer
for the flavor
already feeling upbeat
new melodies
pour from my finger tips
instead of alcohol
into a cup to forget existence
I must have been such a fool
for so long
good riddance

psilocybin
                 made me a better student,
                 son, brother, friend,
                          person.
So why would it
             make me a disgrace
                       to my
parents?

Got a better perspective
as you puked on
the floor

How could such a small,
inconsequential powder
generate such a gravitational pull.
Strong enough to rip me from
my seat, to my feet, to the kitchen sink
then right down the drain.


Take a a step back,
let myself think, I just have to shake
my head side to side or utter
"No"
But somehow that is oh so
so
so
so
so

                          hard.

She has big dreams
filled with London and New York,
acting, musicals, on stage, spot light,
and she's chasing them down,
a huntress in a red dress,
they don't have a chance.
She gets what she wants,
no one can resist her,
all the guys and girls are dying to kiss her.
She could have anyone by simply
beckoning with her finger.
When she steps in a room
it's all eyes on her, but her eyes on me.
Oh God can't she see
that the whole world's in love with all that she does?
Her touch is electricity
shocking me back from a life of complacency,
the voltage between us charging
both our batteries.
All the others who want her,
who might try and ****** her,
they don't really matter.
She can leave for three months,
be set on by handsome men and gorgeous women,
but they can't do what I can if she gives me the chance.
I can dance to her beat,
I keep up in the sheets,
I love her in the bedroom,
on stage, in the streets,
I love her, I love her,
and it's so hard to believe,
but she,
she,
she loves
me?

my fingers don't move
quite fast enough to melt faces
my voice doesn't go
quite high enough to send shivers
through folks
my words only capture
the gist
it feels like I'm always
not quite
good enough

Sitting on a boulder
nestled in a valley,
clutch tea in a tumbler,
watch the water and leaves
that slide on its surface.
Green moss takes refuge on the rock,
a welcome pillar to guide toward the sun
which sifts through the trees.
A wound in the city,
a green scar
reminding us what once was.

I fall in love
with people that fall
out of reach
my hands grasping
fighting to hold
that which can't be held
fleeting brushes of hope
that, over the years, hold
my heart down
and dry up my tears
to make those around me
nothing but ghosts
I'm caught up in
loving
I'm caught up in
loving

I think
I'm a
coward

Ducks lay with tucked noses
relishing rays, taking wing
on Spring's first winds.
The water a flurry,
flapping, diving, thriving,
my mind takes a deep breath.
Toes grip the ground,
sprout roots, push through the dirt
moist with water replenishing my energy.
In this moment
this lake, this shore,
the entire forest,
you and I,
meld.

Link to another world,
where the frigid wall dividing the dead and living
dissipates.
If I think hard enough, or empty enough,
will my steps be blessed,
allow me to pass on?
The only way to be sure
is to cross.

It started nibbling on my spinal chord
not long ago
each day the bites get wider
tossing me into throws of
this all means nothing
or looking like my dad
while staring at the mirror hanging above the sink, It lingers

when I'm on my feet for too long
they turn red
making it hard for me to
stand for anything.
maybe my bed has a selfish plot
to keep me from ever leaving
with its sheets full of envy
forcing me to repeat defining moments
every time my mind deems it fit
to dream

Crooked glasses dangled from the tip
of her nose, tip, tap, typing away
                    "Uh-huh, yes, spring."
One third of a paper later,
my entire life has changed.

My comfiest sweater.
My most relaxing t-shirt.
That one cap, that belt.
These things I can't take back,
stolen from past loves
at the exact moment we began to cry.
I starve for the chance
to wash them in smoke,
douse them in beer
so these clothes are no longer theirs
but mine.

Like seeing a goddess sleep,
the curves of your hips
more perfect than any marble statue.
Your parted lips beckon,
drawn breath rising, falling,
a voiceless calling swirling toward the soul.
Graced by private moments,
who gets the change to see a goddess sleep?
I kiss your cheek
and save this moment
forever in memory.

Suddenly life seems long,
stretched out.
Scenes I'd long forgotten
display on an internal screen.
Could these memories be mine?
Do they belong to another me,
because they don't feel tangible.
How can it be
that I was that person and ended up me?

People I haven't thought about in a millennia
now dance across my vision,
telling me their secrets,
their heartache and happiness.
Could I be so cruel
as to dismiss the fact that they
live in my actions,
my passions,
that they've produced the man
I see in the mirror?