Driving along an empty street
at 6pm you
reach the beach.
The sun is halfway set.
You sit there and watch it sink into the ocean.
you think it's gone but then you remember
something you read a long time ago.
You run up to the lifeguard tower
and climb to the top.
When you get there, you can see
a sliver of the sun, setting again.

Nothing is ever gone if you remember
to change your perspective.

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.

A purebred lunatic
that's what the girl in the purple tights
was called.
Laughed at for wearing three braids
because one just didn't seem right.
And ignored because English
didn't come first.
She danced through the halls
walking hurt her feet.
Purebred lunatic, they would say.
Thank you, she would reply
a smile, a pirouette,
and the girl with three braids
would disappear.

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

sidewalk cracks and jumping jacks
exploring our backyards
overalls and backpacks
making houses out of cards

when we fell down we stood right up
because six-year-olds can't die
so when Ruth wasn't at assembly
we never wondered why

we figured she was sick
had a fever or a cough
she'd be better really quick
she just needed some time off

But Ruth never showed up that year
or the year after that
They told us that she moved away
We knew that wasn't fact

Because Tommy saw something
a familiar satin bow
right under the climbing tree
where young Ruth used to go.

The tallest branch must have
been at least twenty feet high
and to a six-year old that's
high enough to try to fly

But flying's meant for angels
not for children on a bough
and Ruth's no longer on that tree
no
she's
much higher
now.

Back then nothing truly mattered
because we were sitting on cloud nine
years old
and stepping on a sidewalk crack could break an elephant's back
but you stepped anyway
because from way up there on your cloud
elephants were like ants
and we stepped on those too
we were big fans of stepping on things
we stepped on twigs on mud on trees on dirt on carpet on sidewalk cracks on ants
we were too busy stepping to realize that soon
we would become the ones being stepped on.
Because at three feet tall we were so busy playing with the world at out feet
we didn't realize there were worlds worlds above us.
because we were sitting on cloud nine years old
stepping on ants and sidewalk cracks
never bothering
to look  up.

for her birthday
she requested a rose
when all she truly hoped for
was a sunny day
but after years of clouds
a rose seemed
simpler.

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.

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

I have read poems about springtime
everything they say is true
the whole season explained in rhyme
every detail uncovered,
except you.

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.

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

The fluidity of a dancer
and the the eyes of a distant star
the seamstress in the knee length hoop skirt
weaved through the galaxies
leaving a path of shining
thread.

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.

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.

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.

dreams swirl, tranquil in my mind
sharply interrupted
denial, snooze
realization
chomp chomp chomp
ziiiiip slam
clink beeep
rattle rattle rattle
STOP REQUESTED
groan, unload.
walk fast
eyes low
12...click...13...click...6... open
slam
walk faster, required smiles
ffft jot jot jot
retain it retain it
gone
who is there? oh, you again.
you again?
you...
again.
swallow
walk, slower.
bonjour, ça va et toi?
memorize
mesmerized
click click
rattle rattle rattle
sigh
unload.
saunter and release.

There will be days.
There will be days when the person you most want to see is right in front of you.
There will be days when that person is miles away.
There will be days when you accomplish little more than a quick nap.
There will be days when you fail.
There will be days when you succeed.
There will be days when you need people, and that's okay. Because one of these day's they'll need you too. Just wait.
There will be days when the very uttering of their name will send shivers down your bones and blood to your cheeks and the tips of your lips will curve up without you even trying.
There will be days when the tips of your lips refuse to curl up even though you are trying very hard.
There will be days when you don't want to leave the comforting pillow that finally fits your head just as you have to leave.
There will be days when you have to leave.
There will be days when you have to leave behind.
There will be days when you have to forget. try. to forget.
There will be days when you try. to forget. but are reminder over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. there will be nothing you can say. it's okay, I've been there, too.  
There will be days when the feeling is just out of reach and taunts your desperately clawing fingers like a grass seed.
There will be days when you forget about the grass seed.
There will be days when it floats in between your fingers and lands square in the palm of your hand and those are the days you need to day thank you and remember remember. try. to remember.
There will be days when it's difficult to breathe.
There will be days when breathing seems to be the only thing your broken body remembers how to do.
breathe. it's what you're built for. breathe.

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.

" I like coffee. "
I say this all too often when the truth is
I like the way it makes me feel.
I like the sugar I add.
I like the cream and the way it swirls.
I like that it is more sophisticated that hot chocolate.
I like the way it warms my hands.
          all these things go away, though.
I do not like the way it makes me crabby after an hour
I do not like the way it tastes without the extra sugar
I do not like the still blackness when there is no creme to lighten it
I do not like how it doesn't remind me of childhood
I do not like how cold my hands feel when you--
when it is taken away.

good days
are becoming
            few
    and
               far
                              between.

And it should be the other way around.

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?

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.

In a dream I drove a motorcycle
through a hoop ablaze with
dandelions
and as I passed through
each exploded in a cloud
of white seeds
drifting around me
I extended my hand
they danced this way
and that
as I swung my fingers through
the cloud
i wondered how many wishes
I could ask for
But a seed landed
kissing
the tip of my nose
This was far too wonderful for wishes
The white wisp tickled my face
awake.



I saw a little girl today
holding a pure white sphere bloom
she closed her eyes as she blew, wishing.
She missed
the show.

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?

tu es le vent.
le vent qui cherche
le vent qui me regarde
le vent qui vas quelque part.
le vent éphémère.
le vent dont je peut écouter.
Mais, pas le vent qui est visible.
pas le vent qu'on peut toucher.
Et ça, c'est d'accord
avec moi.

Two marbles roll down a plank of wood
they begin close, but without contact
the marbles roll down, opposite directions
all of a sudden the wind changes
they roll side by side scraping each other
a knot, they separate, continuing, both going the same direction
in different paths
their paths never cross again,
they both end up at the bottom of the plank individually
but without that period of togetherness,
without their paths having crossed
they would be where they were.

I have gotten goosebumps many times but up until now I thought I was just getting cold.

I thought the shiver down my spine was ice, not fire.

And I thought the feeling in my stomach was something less beautiful than butterflies.

Up until now, I didn't realize what wonder smelled like. Smoke.

And until I found that goosebumps came as a side-affect of awe I used to grab the nearest blanket to warm up when I really had a flame inside me, not a snowstorm.

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.

i love
volcanoes

even mighty man
cannot halt the flow
of molten earth
the plume
of ash and fury
no roads, no condominium
will be constructed
on the pile of
untouchable mountain

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.

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

We were going to fly to planets that didn't have names yet
we were going to dig a hole and swim in the core.
we were going to sink hawaii, but keep the volcanoes
and we were going so settle down
on the side of the moon that only we would see.
we were going to do ballet on top of the pyramids
and wait for the planets to align
so we could **** past them one by one.
we were going to sing in space so nobody could hear us
we were going to invent invisibility
but not tell anyone.
we were going to grow a garden where all the plants had bow-ties for flowers and spaghetti roots.

we were going to slide down the biggest slide
we were going to swing the swings all the way around
we were going to build camelot from the sand in the backyard
we were going to make potions out of dish soap and dish soap out of vegetable oil.

we were going to bed
you were supposed to wake 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.

My head is encased
in a web
of thoughts
that thrash with cloven tongues and silver lips
at my battered brain.
clearing my head is futile
for every time
i attempt to break free
the web of whispered rumination
tightens its grip.

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.

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