Goals to set so dance to fret
Painting cloaks to taste regret
Flames to let, consume, forget

Absent embers coals inset


Glimmers splinter, minds are deep
Shackle shambles, just to sleep
Jaded gazes, thoughts that seep

Lacking warming spiteful meek

We were the eulogy
Of that lost world
And signs we see
To dead ends furled
Help us happy be
Like shel's sight fueled
Embracing tranquility
As if hope pulled
From passages in me
Without pain hurled
As if it was all to be

I'm sorry to play this out
Natural and organic
Feelings that mesh with butterflies

I'd grab your hand as you were walking
Follow me I know a place
Time thats falling on its face

There is a high rise
And we can look down as Gods
Conveniently there is also a church

And that pavilion eroding into nevermore
Has room for out hearts
We can try again

Falling beats for softer chatter
Holding ropes, that bells sing on
And the world will wait for another minute

After all what really matters

That great tree completes the scene
And winds that climb that high
Know what really matters

do you ever wonder
about the difference between
looking at something
and the hallucination created
when looking past it?
if you look at your hand
it's all you can see
but if you look past your hand
there are now two of them
sometimes it's hard for me
to remember which is real
it gets me thinking
about how my father
used to wake me up
in the morning by rubbing
his stubble across my face
i spent my 11th birthday
under the assumption
that he might come back
if i drank his aftershave
like maybe if i could turn blue
if i could be his favorite color
on our bathroom floor
he would forget why he left
the paramedics were all sobing
as they pumped memories
out of my stomach
i coughed up the day the post-it note with your new address on it
burned a hole in our refrigerator
coughed up the day
the divorce papers came
and my mother
took a baseball bat to the mailbox
i've been choking on the splinters
for 17 years
it's been 17 years
since the last dinner plate
exploded on our dining room wall
17 years since my mother
started accidentally setting your place at the dinner table
17 years since italian night
at the restaurant on the corner
where the juke box
spat tired music
and like so many other things
it stopped working when you left
i guess it's no coincidence
since the juke box went quiet
that the cds in my car
only skip on "i miss you"
i've been hemorrhaging memories
for so long
and now that i'm looking back
i can no longer tell
the mirage from the truth
sometimes i swear
you showed up to my graduation
and last time
i was at your apartment
i can't remember
if the imprints of my hands
are in clay hanging on your wall
or if they were left in the mud
the day god had the audacity
to let it rain
or maybe it's like the time
i saw someone crying on a bridge
now that i think about it
i can't remember if it was me

You are intensity
In ways that I can not speak
In days of gold that touch me, meek
You are hours that Gods keep
And rivers running into creeks

A gospel. Reserved for the cracks
That keep me weak
Shallows with the strongest currents
I can't be but keep this churning

Where was I when you were forged
And planes that meld so do not see
The rampant flames that you stoke
In coals of glittering magnitude

Apostles seek

The poet sits in lamplit gloom
alone in ebb and flow
how strange it seems to write of love
but never feel it's glow

A sigh, a lie, a broken heart,
a kiss on untouched skin
yet still this writers heart it sits
uncharted deep within.

The poet sits in lamplit gloom
and stares at paper bare,
then puts to it her broken heart
and leaves it bleeding there.