I talk to myself
as the night arrives
in little caskets
slipping over
yellow rooftops.
Winter slithers
& rattles back
under the doors,
while spring slews in
on orange cloud.
I say your name
& a luster throbs
across the walls.
Late hours are
breach born,
full of bent bays
of lamp light,
I plead into the ceiling
until I fill
with sharp shapes
draped raw,
& my little speeches
perish in gloves of air.
Out of the window,
black ribbons streak
the riverbank face
to the moon etchings.
High tides blot me:
I still feel as I did
when I met you.
You're a heart shaker,
you wrest the lid
from the world,
your joy fills
my naked mouth.
But something
has gone wrong,
hasn't it?
Disordered,
melancholy -
you, too, see
the night-caskets,
don't you?  
Dublin facades
vanish beneath
rain scissor arms.
But it needn't be so -
come and lean on me.
I will remind you
that spring is come
with green armies
of blithe devotion,
trees flick
with leaf,
& you are loved.
I know you don't even
like me to call you babe,
not anymore, but
I'll live with that -
I'll tell the floorboards,
the starlings and magpies,
the unsealed horizontals
that report at dawn:
it will be alright,
it will be alright.

Angry-headed poppy,
come deliver your sleep.
I want the black dream
that comes at 3 am,
& leaves only when
the numbers rake across
the face of glass.
O ****** poppy,
bring me the blankness
of your dry child -
my beloved slips
into scarlet wine,
she opens to wavering night,
without even my hand.
I down myself with coffee,
then wake with poems
erupting like lilacs
over a new grave.
Sweet-headed poppy,
come distribute your sleep.
I need the black dream
that comes so late
that it blinds me
to the ways I love her.

So my therapist asked me, "Would you want her to read your poems?"

I feel like there's a poem in that somehow,

but I'm too heartbroken over it to write it,

because the truth is I don't know the answer...

I mean she doesn't know me and I fear she never really did

but I also would not want her to be hurt by my words,

yet still, if she doesn't understand then she is already being hurt by the unknown, the lack of understanding, by the misunderstanding itself:

it's a paradox.

all that time I thought I was in love
I felt weightless
unbound by Newtonian theorems
limitless, I had tapped into the physics of
immortal love
that’s how it seems now
as I gaze into the night sky
back in the chains of gravity

oh precious flower,
we marvel at how you uprooted yourself in pursuit of a healthier home,
not only did you sow your seeds in foreign soil,
you defied the seasons to tend to their every need till they flourished into the blossoms we regard today.
your discomfort is now their triumph.
their victory reigns as a testament to your sacrifice.

It was as if he had swallowed milk and honey,
intoxicating all who listened.

His words melted reality and crafted illusions beyond her mind's eye,
evoking dreams from the broken fragments she claimed whole.

He painted her canvas with colors she could only fathom,
the charismatic allure surrounding the energy they shared.

They crossed paths in an unlikely time,
feeling depth beyond destinations defined.

🐭🧀

I am a mouse tempted by scent of cheese,

                                                        ­      I am a little lever,
                                                    by wightish weight released.

                                                                     I am the
                                                          daring
                                             domino,

         Tip me over and off I go,

Tapping-time-toppling
                                        just as mapped,

                                                       Chain reactions
                                                                ­               crashing
                                                                ­                          choreographed.

                                                 ­               I am the ball bearing on its
                                                                ­                                     tilted track,

                                                         ­            Precariously poised
                                                                ­    awaiting that last flat

                                                               ­               CRACK!

                                                       ­    Startling astart at starting gun,

Gravity-well-willing I wobbly-spin-roll-run,

                                          ­                Back and forth I wander like a top,

Dizzily confused when off the end I
                                                                ­     plop.

                                                  It's alright, everyone, I'm okay,

This cup was here to catch me...              luckily.

                                                  Ah, I'm the cup too, of course,

                                      Rattling 'round rampant without remorse.

                              It's not a problem, I've already served my purpose,

                                  Ball-bearing-brained, I was useful for impetus.

                                  Downward-driven delivering incidental dues,

                         I am now the toy robot set off on a cruise,

               Wheels turning, less one brain (lest I hurt myself)

        Wound-up tight only to travel the length of a shelf.

Gears ground, I spark-stumble-halt,

      I've kicked the bucket, but it's nobodies fault:

                I'm also the water cascading through air,

                                                           ­   Splashing happily,
                                                        but predictably,
                                                   to be fair.

                            Sloppily graceful I stick the landing,

Releasing the cage, design-demanding.

                      Mouse
                       lever
                     domino
                        ball
                        cup
 ­                      robot
                      water
                       cage

I might even be the little mouses tiny outrage.

It seems I was all the pieces of the trap I set,

Honestly, everything fits just fine, except:

We seem to be missing one of the architects.