Reach and fail
Reach and
                   fail,
Coming to terms with who is who
And what is what
What gifts have been given
What gifts will never be delivered
Where the darkness reigns
Where the light rains
Where love remains

Coming to terms with the four white walls,
What is projection?
What are delusions?
What is truth and beauty?
What is it
we are grateful for?

Each step taken
One step forward
Two steps back
Honing
Moaning
Calling out into the night
Looking for the dawn
With words that
Pitter patter -
Tears that are wet for a moment
but evaporate on the floor -
Calling out
"come on, come on -
Give me some
At least one more time"

In this awkwardness
In these limitations
Of vocabulary
In the flatness of these
Rhythms and rhymes
While others create spaces
and lines
Pieces expanding to the skies
Maybe even a little bit more than
wise - touching the divine

I'm
Twisting and falling
Holding on
Coming to terms with who is who
and
What is what
Still gotta try to find
the true poetry
One more time
One more line
Gotta do it
Before I really die.

brushstrokes, some broad,  
some as narrow as one fine hair,  
are often red  

scarlet and scattered
across the canvas, splattered
against a crumbling wall, where,
for no rhyme or reason, the artist
may place a wilted wreath of flowers,
pallid, yellow
      
horses and people, babes
and the ancient not spared  
their share of the crimson cream  
the painter heaped munificently
on their mangled remains

Paris, Beirut, Yola yet to be painted
but there is still time: in its abundance
someone else will need only lift a hand  
to spill the ubiquitous blood      

our palettes do own other hues
black for charred crosses, white,
the lightning streaked screaming sky
but  none so plentiful as the red  
none so plentiful as the red

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.