i just want a boy like
holden caulfield-
maybe not all yellow,
but a great whistler

someone who reads novels
before he goes to bed

somebody to catch me
when i dance to close to the edge

i guess that's all i could
ever really ask for.

and, i swear
nobody could have
                      saved her
that day, she was a victim
    to graffiti and
       road signs.

you* are my daisy
by the c h a i n l i n k
fence.

attraction is just
a synthetic reaction,
but we've got
*chemistry

Give me one truth to hold onto

cause I’ve been wishing on stars

higher than my expectations

My maybe stars and mostly flames

but they always fall down like hail

and leave bruises on my shoulders

already riddled with red spots

left by my bad habits and self hate

And bruises mostly stay longer than you want them to

talking about your weakness to strangers you’ve never met

It’s the same with hickeys and sunburns, but aren’t they all reminders

that yesterday your heart sang into another being

or ocean waves crashed into your ankles

and I know your eyes light up when that music starts

so don’t try to deny your vulnerability

You know, most of us been waiting for our lives to begin

for as long as we can remember

hoping and hanging onto daydreams

of inner peace and finally having love

but the smallest nighttime erases them

and our whispers are lost in the cracks of thunder

just like

every other wonder of every other lover I have

and all those lovers are stifled by each other’s unspoken phrases

and the rumble in the back of your head that chokes out

“don’t make a fool of yourself” “your words can’t carry your heart” “you will only end up embarrassed”

Why are we all so embarrassed?

When our beautiful friends stand in front of us blossoming as wide as a montana sky

and you stand there with a gate constraining your compassion like you’ve never cried yourself to sleep

But I have been both the guilty and the ashamed

and the only certainty I can give

is to speak your truth

or else wonder if you’re wishing on satellites

That which goes cannot know
the thing you need, like trees, to grow.
The mushroom knows and so the willow,
but that which goes,
which moves cannot.
The grooves they choose
what is to fill them,
and the roots they loose none but the lightest stones,
for they know their home is close
and that their is no need to reach,
for the stars from so far still teach
the thing you need, like trees, to grow.

Slow down,
and that which once was out of grasp
clasps itself to you.

I have a strange relationship with my across-the-street neighbor.
Every morning, after the coffee *** is brewing and the bed is made,
I enjoy a cigarette or two just outside the front door.
I look across the street and I see him.
Bearded, usually wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and slippers.
On a typical morning he is out before me, about half way through his cigarette.

Although I've lived across the street from him for the better part of two years, I do not know his name.
I know that he smokes Marlboro 100's, just from the way his pack, generally in his cigarette holding hand, looks.
I know he has a wife, and a what seems to be three year old daughter.
I love this man.
I love him and his wife and his daughter and his Marlboro 100's.
Every morning that I see him, it is a sign that I am awake, that this is all real.
For if I were to not wake my mind would not be so cruel as to trick me.
My mind would not be so cruel as to deceivingly use my only sense of comfort against me.

Before daylight savings so rudely interrupted my subconscious schedule, the sun would just creep above the low tree line behind the man's house as he put out his cigarette and go inside.
On some days, I imitate him shortly after, dropping my cigarette and returning inside.
On other days, days when I need all of the tobacco in my cigarette, which have been occurring more often than they used to, I follow him more slowly. I stay outside until the sun is completely out from behind the tree line. Some days, as was the case this morning, I need two cigarettes to properly prepare me for the day.
And on these days, the man returns outside, with his baby girl in his arms and his wife following behind.
They all pile into his grey Toyota pickup and are off.
Where to, I know not.
All I know is that I will see him tomorrow.
And I love him for that.