The bitter black coffee slides down my throat
I wince at the taste and the headache
as a result of last night

Oh but this is what I live for.
the excitement of forgetting

Of becoming someone else.
A carefree girl
who never passes up a dare,
who tips the bottle back
taking on the burn
without a swig of anything else to make
it go down easy.

Cause' the thing is,
I won't go down easy,
i can't.
I want rules so i can defy them

I want those crazy nights
filled with adrenaline
and legs sprawled on moonlit grass

Not the normal lull
of a life planned out,
sitting patiently on a grocery shelf
ready to be taken home for dinner
to feed the kids and the greetings of the
"honey, I'm home" 's
followed by an empty kiss.

No, not me.
First, I'll paint my body
blue and black
because i welcome the bruises.
I'll burn out long before
you can catch me with an
apron tied around my waist
and a platter full of fresh, hot cakes.

awkward hellos
and
sad goodbyes
is all we have,
at least it's all we have
that people could see,
alone you and i can see each other
actually look into one another's eyes
feel our bodies touch and press together
in an almost never ending embrace,
of passion and desire.
i taste your lips over and over
simply because i am afraid to forget how soft,
how sweet, and how warm they are.
i love to share myself with you,
every inch of my pink flesh.
and when the night is gone and the world awakens
once again the awkward hellos
and sad goodbyes is all we have.

There's a reason there's a path outside your door
that leads to a road
that leads to an interstate,
that leads to an airport.

And there's a reason that planes fly from that airport
to one near here.

Same reason that airport has a road
that leads to a highway
a highway that they are repairing as we speak
that leads to my town
to a path that leads to my door

And its not just coincidence.

Any more than its coincidence that you are reading this.

A silence with you
Is not
a silence

But a moment rich
with peace

I wonder why you want to row
When there are just so many terms to know
Before you get in the boat and place an oar in the water,
Before you take a single stroke don’t think you ought to
Remind yourself of what they are, these parts and pieces,
Actions and orders that rowers use (but poets don’t)
So forgive me if I leave some out.
 
Let’s take a look at the boat (or rather the shell):
The seat you sit on,
​slides, backstop, shoes and riggers.
 
The skeg that stabilizes the shell,
​shoulder, saxboard, and pogies.
The top-nut that keeps the rowlock in place,
​swivel, stretcher and rollers.
 
Now for the oar (or rather the scull):
There’s the Spoon blade, the Macon blade,
​Smoothie or Tulip.
 
Ready (or not) for the stroke you take ?
An Airstroke (in the air) ,
​backsplash, backwater, or body stroke,
 
Go on bury the blade, check the cover,
​ but don’t catch a crab!
Mind out for the drunken spider,
​watch the feather and the finish,
 
Inside hand, outside hand,
​hands away, miss the water,
Leg back, lie back,
​pause the paddling, watch the pitch,
 
Release and recover,
​don’t shoot your slide,
Swing the stroke rate,
​and space those puddles.
 
Careful there’s no skying,
​and absolutely no washing out.
 
Ready for a repecharge?
Or perhaps you’d prefer an egg-beater?
Ask the *** to call a flutter.
 
Easy oars
​Hold her hard
Ship oars
​One foot up & out
Waist, ready, up
​Shoulders, ready, up
​Way enough!

Yielded to the toast on plate,
it's a quaint morning but it
began in boredom. I closed
my eyes and kept them tight
because I knew I had nothing
to do but keyboards and screens
with a side of cleaning. This is
freedom? I suppose freedom is
the choice to this multiplied
one million, but when you
wake up bored, now what?
Someone once told me that
motivation is like a bath-
recommended every day or 2. I
suppose they're right. I really do.

Wrapped in your embrace
Drunk on your scent
Trapped in your eyes
My hands around your neck
You say you have to leave
Robin's calling her Finch
So you start to lean in
For a goodnight kiss

I get all confused
I loose my cool
You want a simple peck
And I was going for more
The moment still happened
Your face so close to mine
I stand there dazed and confused
...Well there's always next time.

I stand above my bed
And examine the damage.
Blankets this way and that
Pillows all over
Sheets tangled up around themselves.
Proof of something that
Only hours ago
Left this place empty.
I take in the rubble
And breathe deeply.
I lower myself down to those
Tangled sheets
And backwards bedspreads
And fill my lungs with you.
I pull them up around me
And close my eyes
And wish for this place to be
The same kind of battleground
Again tomorrow.