There’s an aging house across the street
with inhabitants we’ll never meet
a bright blue truck
grass with no luck
tall weeds that look like wheat.

Their christmas lights are inside out
rust is running all throughout
overgrown
with creaks and groans
brown water out the water spout.

Before the days of modern science
the sun
was a pure white ball of light
when we fused the right filters, though,
we saw the dark spots
the spots hidden by the brilliance
the spots that were there all along
the black blobs of no lights masked by the fire.

And It's the same with you.
For years I saw you as a perfect sun.
A flawless orb of life and light within my grasp.
But I just bought my first pair of sunglasses, polarized, with all the right filters.
You've got more dark spots than I thought.
More tears in your imperfect photosphere
than I could have possibly imagined.

And don't mistake dark spots for scars because scars are places that once were pure
a dark spot
was always missing.

You're missing a lot of pieces.
I'm glad I see that now.

Power lines
weaving in and out of the foliage
the sky
a cool gray with red tinge
preparing for navy blue
late enough for the streetlights to cast a glow
too early for them to cast a shadow.
The leaves
dark against the slate sky
colors faint
not indistinguishable
branches dancing forwards and backwards
as the air inhales and exhales.
Navy sky
colors all the same
the lamps cast a shadow.

Why did you go?

Answer, please... answer.

Go on

why did you

go?

Why did you leave

you left so suddenly the leaves

were still drifting in the breeze

falling leaves falling down while I fell

for your unanswered questions as you darted under the falling maples.

Leaves falling while I fell for you, leaving.

Why did you leave me to fall behind?

Come back... the leaves have fallen.

come back, please... come back.

you see,
my poetry
is written by hand.
and my hand
is an extension of my heart. because I can find no other way to express how it
continues to beat day after day without fail than to move my pencil to the same rhythm
and no
I don't always keep perfect time
but neither does my
   heart.

There's a buzz about the place
an energy radiating from the neon signs, the stone step stoops.
Even the locals
have so much too look at
and more to see.
Being tired is not an option
but on the subway some look as if they've never slept,
the city hasn't either, after all.
It's a place where the avenues are wider than the sky
and the sidewalks all lead somewhere.
People walk fast, and you fall in and out of love in seconds
you notice their glasses, their coats, their shoes
their eyes
darting from building to building
brick to brick
trying to absorb the huge buzzing energy.

The waves of the ocean
do not compare to the tides in my heart
Gravity is so forceful
that I see stars grow closer
and then slide away
in a fraction
of a heartbeat.
I can move stars closer to my heart
but you stay put.
Perhaps we're from different worlds
different stars.

A curve of the lips
a flash of teeth
a sweet smile
that sticks
onto my eyes
for a very
very long time

We are so intent on figuring out
what we are going to be
that we forget to focus on what we are
nothing can change in the future
if it doesn't change now.
And it's okay to have goals
but don't think of them as plans
think of them as a command, a calling
and start immediately
the first few steps are always the most difficult
it
will
be
difficult
that's right
but once you find your footing, the path will start to look more level
so when someone asks you where you want to be
in however many years
tell them what they want to hear
but know
that you're already on your way.

Here on Earth
a shrine may be considered holy
there are things we cannot touch
cannot touch, because we are not allowed.
But to have been created by man,
they must have had contact at some point
and that's where the stars come in
because nobody has touched a star
nobody has seen a star face to face
the atmosphere is a veil shielding us from the eternal infinities
just out side our reach.
We cannot touch the stars
but there is no priest, no holy man telling us so.
Nature forbids us
and that makes stars
the most holy.

I knew a someone once
who walked into and out of my life at leisure
few words exchanged,
knowing glances made up our strange vocabulary

but lacking words,
our language was limited
no glance translated to goodbye.

not because goodbye wasn't important,
but because we both would rather do without
that certain finality, it wasn't how
we wished
to part ways

and in that emptiness where goodbye should have been,
was the goodbye that could have been

We sit at desks slaving for hours over made up numbers and too-long phone calls while
worlds
worlds
worlds away
a star is born
and I’m talking about a real star
because we call people who can sing on key “stars” but nothing can shine as bright
as the massive, beautiful fires in the sky.

I wish my tongue did curl in a way
to make my words roll simply off it.
That my extremities may move as
freely as my mind commands them
to do so.

I wish my fingers did not flinch
at the electricity inside of others.
That my heart may be steady
and not frighten me with incessant
speed. I wish it were not so
insistant.

I wish the whites of my eyes
did not surround such wide dark rounds.
That your stare could not incite
such an energy through the tips
of my fingers.

I wish this shivering were out of chill
and not admiration.
That this may be simpler.

I am too often consumed by a cold blue light
  illuminating my blank stare
  and expressionless face.

The world in front of my eyes draws me in
  but does not exist.
  We see it, but it's in our heads.

I spend too many hours
  checking tiny inconsequential dots
  of light.

We laugh as our cats and dogs chase a red spot around the room
  but are we
  any better?

it feels as though i've waited seven lifetimes
for this day to come
this day when i could think anything
do
almost
anything
but expectations are only things we tell to ourselves
and I know better than anyone
that I cannot trust what i tell myself.
expectations are never true
and it may be better now
but it's not healed
i don't know if it ever will be.

It's more unlikely to the others
but you are the one
whose mind is slipping
forgetting
the times we had
that weren't defined in anybody's heads but ours but clearly
the grooves in my mind
are deeper
because you walk past
and on a good day you smile
maybe you think the same
but when you didn't remember
yesterday
i knew this was mostly me doing the missing
and maybe you have a bad memory
but i forget things everyday
and i still remember the words
the conversation
the day of the week
feeling my heart pounding in my fingers as i typed
"hi"
two letters that led to two years that led to one year of
something
and we didn't even talk
we laughed we joked
we never talked once
and that's still how it is
nothing has changed
everything is different
and I don't know how I feel about this because I try really hard
but you do not care
maybe it's me
maybe it's my incredible anxiety
keeping me from smiling in your direction
but you
could smile
too.

The tips of my lips curve toward the stars
but the words on the tip of my tongue
and too heavy to bend upwards

So that's where they remain
at the end of a thought but never
floating to your ear
because I can't let you hear
the things I've been holding, saving
for a time that I realize now
will never come.

Because they were heavy before
but now the dust they've collected
has nearly tripled their weight
and though they try to break away toward the sun
it is a futile to try to break through
years
of bottling up.

There are things that will never be said
some things are impossible to understand
with or without words
and we must let them be.

We fool ourselves into believing
we can see without correction.
I tried to look too far, my eyes strained,
and it worked, but in seeing ahead, in seeing distantly,
what lie in front of my squinting irises remained a blur

"If you keep your face like that it'll stick that way."

I've been looking at the same flower for years now.
It looks the same but there is some aspect
which my squint cannot determine, it seems,
that changes after every passing blink.

Having eyes locked on a flower is a funny business
it first shone by its beauty, but, a short blink later
the petals seem to fall under their weight
as if taking a periodic breath, and releasing into a calmer state.

Looking at something for long enough stops hurting after a while.
It becomes symbiotic, the flower seems to stare back, even lacking eyes.
And that's where the crack in the wall begins,
believing a flower to have eyes.

It goes wrong when the flower appears to be looking back
It seems real in thought, but reality tells a different story,
as it always does.
thought and reality are not closely linked, unfortunately
and this makes flowers somewhat fantastical.
and of course it is easy to enjoy their fragrance, or rich color,
but once you have locked eyes with a flower, once your face gets

stuck that way...

you can't look away
and it will wilt, imaginary eyes and all.

I wrote your name
and it burned through the paper

I whispered it
and it pierced the thin air

I used to think
that you were my savior

But now I see  
you were never really there.

It's nice
to be sad
about the same
old things

i thought
i was over
i was done
plans foiled
again by fate

a heavenly visitor
in a lab coat
felt my heart
and said it was strong-
er than i believed

yet here i am
sad
but it's nice
to be sad
again about the same
old things.

He slept in that bed
long before I came into
the picture
navy blue sheets
golden brown bedposts.
I could always run my fingers
along the wall that connected us at night
his steady breath a steady
reminder
that all was well,
all was normal.


He came home from school
my parents around the dining table
shifting weight, waiting.
A letter with letters, words
of navy blue and shining gold.
Congratulations we are pr…


Smiling, embracing
          mind racing
We still had precious months…
Until liftoff.


Gazing at the bed
tired eyes
foggy with 3 am,
now foggier with tears.
His steady breath
a comforting metronome
lulled me to rest on the cool
hardwood floor
The room was warm,
full, occupied
with steady breaths,
cardboard boxes and love.


The car flew away before I could put my shoes on.
through the dust
“I couldn’t see the permanence.”
I waved
I waved until my arm burned hot
enough to evaporate the falling water from my eyes.
“If I closed my eyes
I wouldn’t see him go.”

Gazing at the bed.
tired eyes.
foggy with 4 pm
now foggier with emptiness.
He left a dent in the mattress
a comforting mold
I tried to fit
Tried to fill the space left behind.
The room was gusty,
empty, vacant,
with distant breaths,
dust and new negative space.

He slept in that bed
long before I came into
the picture
navy blue sheets
golden brown bedposts.
I could always run my fingers
along the wall that connected us at night.

The wall has swelled, hallowed.
I still trace it
listening,
waiting
for the void to narrow.

I miss the days
when big books
were used for pressing flowers
and I love reading
but things used to be simpler
there was a time when I didn't need and author or a poet
to tell me about places beyond
reality
I was already
there
and I don't know
how to find my way back.

Maybe we like the stars
because we see ourselves in them
we see the brilliant light visible to the human eye
but we know they are just hurtling ***** of gas and fire
shooting through the vacuum, no direction
awaiting a spectacular, explosive fate
only to fade into nothing
black like the background
they're not here for any reason other than that they can be here

we're just like the stars.

I have a picture of you
plastered on the inside of my eyelids
I thought I would see you
whenever I closed my eyes
But it's just really
dark.

I've read too many poems to believe in a world without tangible words.

I've seen too many hearts broken to believe anything can last.

I've watched too many shooting stars to believe anyone is really alone.

I've danced to too many slow songs to believe you need a partner.

I've asked too many questions to believe there is a right answer to any of them.

I've watched you laugh too many times to believe we could ever laugh together.

I've been nervous too many times to distinguish between butterflies and wasps.

I've been forgotten too many times to believe you haven't forgotten too.

I really do love everyone
really,
everyone. I hope you all know that.
Because love is not in limited supply and that is one of the greatest things about life.
We can love whomever we please whenever we please
Because our hearts may be the size of our fists
but they're bigger on the inside.
Infinitely.
And they pump blood through
and pump love out
So if we all have this well inside of us
why not use it.
I love all of you.
Why shouldn't I?

The difference
is that the moments I hold close
are ones you let go seconds after they happened
and that's all the more reason
to hold them tighter, closer.

I look back on things and smile
but now I realize
that you don't even look back
at all.

I was silent when I really should have spoken up
and i said words I really didn't mean.
I really didn't mean.

I lied to avoid complications
to keep things simple.
but simple has more layers than complicated ever will.

I miss when I was afraid of eye contact
not wishing for it.
when I ran away
instead of chased
because I'm running after something
that's just a bit
faster.

It exists as a shadow would in a dark room.
Impalpable, invisible
yet the air feels darker there, heavier.
It follows me making footsteps that never touch the floor.
Silent, inaudible
yet I feel the air shift after each pace.
It touches me somehow, without informing my skin.
Cold, internal
yet I feel the bumps emerge on my chilled forearms.


I have been trying to capture it
years spent looking over my shoulder
It knows where my eyes end
It hides in the unreachable crook in my back.
It sings
the songs
I once knew
the words to.

It gets sad here.

We wallow in our inconveniences and forget
to celebrate the clouds and the birds and the sun.

It's hard to forget things so instead of trying to wash away
the sad,
-because it won't go away-
create better
memories
cancel out the unhappy
and replace it with bliss.

Sometimes
things are so overwhelmingly beautiful
that feeling  of being swept off your shoes envelops your being
lost in the moment, mind whirring and a little tingly
and you wish you could be there
for the first time
a thousand times.
But you only see something for the first time once
and by definition, a moment
doesn't last forever.
So make most of your moments
ones you wish you could
relive.

Blood shed
but it wasn't blood
it was something
saltier.

1
      I would go to the edges of the universe
      to see your face light up like that again
      you wouldn't even walk a block
      to say hello.

1
      I would do anything for a machine that could bend time
      and your thoughts and direct it all back to that time
      you  smiled
      and thanked me.

2
      You do everything right
      but it's all wrong
      it's not real.
      I can't touch it.
      You can't feel it.

3
      We can talk and talk and talk and talk
      I know you like the back of my hand
      and yours.
      I do.
      You seem to have forgotten.

4
      You're not gone
      but you're not here
      I thought you were.  

1
      It's been years
      don't you remember?

It is a spiral spinning down
a marble at the top
a gentle tap
a long way down.
It the journey, they say
it's in how you interpret the abyss.
We're all spinning, though
the sun in its place
the planets elliptical
the tears soaked up by your pillow
are spreading with equal velocity
as the earth.
When things topple down, the rest follows
things that you thought you didn't care about
things you thought were forgotten
people, friends, could-have-beens,
cardboard crates labelled "future" get lost in the storm
entropy, really.
Meaning the pieces are of a puzzle made to be destroyed.
And the ephemeral nature of the future
is something we have to embrace,
for, though it is a long way down,
there is no abyss here.
Just damp pillows and a lost soul clinging to a marble
just like the rest.
Pining away
yearning for a gentler tap.

time is strange
things that will be were
and things that were will be.

and it's all now
it all was
it all will never be

all of it will
all of it did

and we're in the now
but that's relative
because we were in the now
before
and if that was the now then
where are we
                                                              ­ now?

good days
are becoming
            few
    and
               far
                              between.

And it should be the other way around.

your roots stretch deeper
than my branches ever will
but we share a trunk

Ten Words.

The universe is speaking
it's speaking very fast
and I can only catch the occasional word
I'm not sure when
Ill be able to catch up.

The cool gray

of the days you choose

to stay inside

to watch the world

falling in capsules

from the clouds

the color of the days

you see

where your tears go

after falling from your cheek.

I'm not a selfish person, but
For too long now
I've been smiling for you.
But I've been smiling without showing teeth.
Because my lips are sealed shut not by a secret but by a promise
to always be there.
And I've forgotten that I need to be there
for myself.
For too long now I've been smiling, lips shut, for you.
I like my teeth now, though
and I think it's time
to show them.
I need to smile with you.
And I need to smile for me.
From now on
I won't smile in pity
or to make you think that nothing is wrong
when I show my teeth
the only person I will be showing them to
is myself.

People scale rocks
cliffs
mountains
to look at the world
they left behind.
All that pain
for all that beauty.
It's worth it.
So why are you still
down here.

And I know it's real
because you've given me butterflies
three times.

You're more than I
will ever be
I'm two parts you
and one part me.