peaceful slumber which
should be a simple wish
is distracted by ***** air
finding shelter inside lungs
occupied by cheap whiskey and
violent words waiting for release

when patience tries to be the
biggest strength and the greatest
weakness
it loses value
as unanswered calls stack up in place
to test the stability of patience

and how much silence is enough
before all that's wanted is a scream?

it's not the days that blur together
but the moments
when other people take off their clothes
and live forever
dancing in permanent sunsets

when choosing your own way
feels more like the absence of one
and running into the future
is more frightening than arresting

putting yourself to sleep
in a bed of trepidation
offers the small sounds
of outside wonder

you call them miracles
weightless - they rest in the back of your heart
soothed in the red infrastructure
safe from any conundrum of your conscious


my hands have been searching
ever since yours ran away
out of commission does its job
of salting landscapes of forgotten palms


empty sheets are irrelevant when empty dreams
carry you from one regret to the next
promising the endless night long overdue
requested at a perfect summer


days are a lot like excuses
they drift like strangers through towns
though excuses should not be confused with miracles
those come straight from the heart

there were 9 times
9 times I was let down
9 times I expected more
and 9 times disappointed

9 shirts were laid out
and none of them picked
9 mirrors had cracks in them
not one could stay
9 books full of untapped potential
9 stories in search of readers

I counted to 9 and shut my eyes
hoping to dive right into a dream
and 9 minutes later I was still awake

there were 9 mistakes I made
and 9 times I felt sorry for each one
I counted to 9 on my fingers
and couldn't make it to the 10th

there were 9 syllables in the last thing
you said to me
I'm sorry but I can't be with you

stars align in proper formality
shadows disappear like tired ghosts
exercise lifts the journey into purpose
while planets pretend to watch from a far

search for solace can lead one
down empty bottles or through
broken bones
for the last beat of a heart

an outworn disposition
from conversations of yesterday
with faces losing familiarity
past the compromise of civil grounding
nothing but ashes in a private memory

a world of nighttime
unsure if it wants to be beautiful
or terrifying
it can't offer much
if you continue to walk away

promises of forever
and perfection which knows no end
these things fly off the tongue so easily
escaping before they're given any worth

steps between spaces are as silent
as the town trying to find its sleep
whispers from hushed restaurants evaporate
as they're visually removed from focus

my desire for rest is not unlike
the town's
giving me less light than I deserve
as I search for a parked car
to take me home

kids walking along Bloomfield avenue
look for liquor stores that don't card
fueled by the ecstasy of mischievous youth

if I drive away
will I miss the golden opportunity
sitting in place waiting for kinetic release?

if all I want is to drive into your arms
without reservation
am I selfish
or just lonesome?

East Side Mags closes in
the crescendo of finality
an array of dark stores
lifeless – unattractive at night

the flicker of New York activity
a compass on the horizon for
any wandering traveler

it's a whole world over there
a perfect backdrop for night drives

undeveloped frustration
taints the addicting fragrance
captured in the charm of soft lips
ready to spit out strong words
to govern unstable conversation
prepared to forget innocent affection
organically crafted in days waiting to be years

your arms which bordered my body
leave me at unease in an unfamiliar bed
with nothing but filth underneath fingertips
throwing anger at stale chemistry
which slips further into history

your beauty reduced to a scream
edging out the last of us
into a shatter across the floor
pricking naked skin that moves

children on Friday
throw care out of two-story windows
their weekend is a small miracle
filled with music from old stereos

the boys send kisses to the girls
and congregate for prospects of play
the street is its own world
glistening with magic from the sky

dreary winter has quieted to sleep
flowers can find their perfect bloom
doors permanently closed for so long
creak open to invite warm air

children dance with bare feet
and tell stories fueled by quick laughter
their freedom is a wondrous privilege
for futures are a thousand years away

the hiss of dusk
claps like thunder to dethrone time
threatens with the dread of Monday
but the children don’t worry
their kingdom is a moment forever