I dive into your
burnt sugar eye
and bathe there
while the moon
stumbles to
fullness. Riots
of peaches joust
in the sunset
while sways of
black walnut
throw shadows
to the street.
Radio towers
blink away
in long ovals
of distance.
Lonely cars
drift as if on
the sea floor.
I share this
with you
while waxy
breezes trawl
across the face
of the new night.

i prayed for sunshine
but all i got were storms
were i patient enough
i’d have seen the rainbow

there are no ghosts
in the sky,

my tabby cat wears the moon,
curled into the corner
like a sleepy fog,

the dreamscape is made
of silver and gold,

you (like always)try to get my
attention and i (like always) ignore
you, trying to write
my poem…

(you)
(move) to
rhythms (my)
(soul) can’t help
but d a n c e
(along)
to

The closest I ever feel
to anything
is to the words I write.
When I am a million leagues
into the depths,
and there is nothing,
nothing to do
but carve these letters
into the floor.
No,
nothing.
Nothing more.
Words ring hollow,
and melodies fall flat,
prayers (un)heard,
another test.
This too will pass,
but while it stays,
while it tarries,
black is bequeathed behind
my eyes
my mind is marred
in manic peril
and I carve these words
into the floor
one more time
one more time
once more.

there are so many of you
that i would love to sit down with;
maybe over a milkshake and a plate of fries;
and just talk.
i want to ask you about the boy that hurt you,
about the anger you feel deep inside
over a father who said he’d come back...
and then didn’t.
i want to run with you through pages of words and say
“oh that’s right, what a lovely metaphor.”
i want to see all your smiling faces and
thank each and every one of you for showing me kindness,
for saving my life.
i want to collaborate on novels of poetry
and laugh with you through the tears of our pasts.
so until we sip those milkshakes and eat those fries...
thank you, to
some of the most beautiful people i have never met.

She's sick
of me
I know that
I'm sick
of me
Too