i look for you
     always

     i’ll catch a flash of you
in the dark shadows
of a smokey bar
     or hear the scuff of your boot
on the beer soaked floor
     or the glimpse of black leather
as a door slowly closes

     i smell the aroma of you
while entering a book store
following it towards
the mysteries and horror
only to have the scent fade
somewhere between self help
and biographies

     i feel you
next to me in bed at night
spellbound by the very thought of you
aching to hold you
then saddened by the fact
that your side of the bed is empty

you've left me, i know
   and foolish, i may be
but it gives me comfort
   knowing you can arouse my senses
just by imagining you're still around.

She says the ghost of you is insanity,
that your soul is welcome breath
upon my loneliness,
a manifestation derived from
a mysterious noise
or a distant calling of my name.

The breeze makes me cold
sitting here on the porch where we last met.
I feel like my soul is lost,
whispering words into the darkness,
thinking you can hear me.

There's a streetlight on the corner
that shines dimly upon falling snow,
disguising it like piles of diamonds,
or fragile tears made of glass;
shed only upon release of knowledge
too full of truth to be denied.

Passing cars are seldom,
people clutch their coats around them
tighter,
walking through the alleyways.
Reminds me of the way we hide
ourselves within ourselves
clutching, grasping
holding on,
folding our feelings around us like coats.

And my only consolation
is the sharp intake of oxygen and nicotine
merged into one
to live and to die all in a single breath.

This lingering ritual of watching
nights pass,
like a shuffling of cards front to back,
blows away the memories
in dusty swirls of smoke,
leaving the entirety of your essence
instilled in one moment.

She says the ghost of you is insanity,
that your soul is welcome breath
upon my loneliness,
a manifestation derived from
a mysterious noise,
or a distant calling of my name.

a day in the life: valedictorian at the school of hard knocks,
already committed to humdrum state university--full scholarship
she laces up her shoes, buttons her top, ever so slightly to balance
the constant feeling in the pit of her stomach
like that of a roller coaster moments before the big drop
each car horn and bird chirp plays into a miserable melody
raining down upon her withered teenage face like ashes of anxiety
burn-holes her already tattered clothes until they resemble swiss cheese
she breathes heavily.
each step is a hurdle,
each word a quarrel,
each conversation an uphill battle
every potential relationship another personal waterloo
dimples and straight teeth mask the dread coursing within her skull
just as her long sleeves and wristbands hide the things she shouldn't do
her body lackluster and tired, as if she hadn't slept for days
or maybe just worn from escaping the holes she finds herself in daily
or from her Jackson *******-esque arm motions when she splatters paint
because she thinks she can never paint else anything right
she opens the door with her right hand
her left hand remains in a fist, squeezing tight
her sweaty palms make holding the door a challenge
but it's best that she not let go.

she paces down the dimly-lit corridor of a modern day ***** den
in a corner apartment, situated on the intersection
of **** carpet and depraved junkies
she knows she was raised better.
guided over heaping masses of humans
cigarette butts
and the burnt carpeting they create
she knows it's only getting worse.
her hands are clenched in tight fists
awaiting the moment
when she can finally loosen up
she knows her father loves her.
her fingers run along the wall
awaiting for a familiar feeling
something to remind her of something she loves
she knows these walls are nothing like her bedroom.
she and he sit down before a snowy television
he reveals a plastic syringe
beneath flickering florescent lights
she knows it's late.
he flicks his lighter and burns the needle
to sanitize it
leaving a layer of burnt black butane
she knows it's still *****.
laying down, a the warmed needle is placed on her arm
she ties her little league shirt tightly
around her forearm
she knows her father wouldn't be pleased.
after leaning back
she's reminded of her last flu
by the initial feeling
**she knows nothing now.

I think of you when I’m on the toilet.**
Okay.
Maybe that wasn’t the best place to start
I think of you when I’m walking too
Wishing you were taking the same route
By coincidence
But hoping that it was by choice
I think of you when I make breakfast
Cause I would gladly make enough for two
When I have nothing better to do
I count the hair on my forearms
And I wish you were here to help me count
I was never really good at math
Or science
But I’m really good at thinking
I swear
And I’m pretty good at grammar
Because you
Are the person
About whom
I have been thinking much lately
I ponder you like politicians
In Astana
Ponder budgets
Like artisans in Rwanda ponder baskets
Like the UN ponders nations
Like farmers ponder precipitation
I roughly calculate
I could have solved around 200 Rubik’s Cubes
Give or take a few
In the time it took
to figure out you
So now I’ll chew my fingernails well past the white part
Even though you can’t stand it
Because I don’t want you thinking that I’m thinking about you

Currently
Grasping the fraying rope
At both ends
Firm hold
Keeping us
From splitting in two
Just as I ought to
Currently
Worriedly pacing the floorboards
Before mortars
Waiting for a knock on my door or
A phone call if you’re savvy or
An SMS like a daddy
Angry and in all caps to his daughter because she defied her father and stayed out longer than she oughta
And I’m currently
Physically staying in place and
Mentally running away, 3 p.m. train to a better day
Like the teenage girl who was ****** cause she had to be home at 10:30 and it wasn’t even a school day
But hey
I digress currently
Hurriedly thinking of everything beautiful in life to decide
If it’s worth it
The answers sit unaware like prey
The questions come back like predators and they’re lurking
If Jesus was a thief, should I be stealing or learning
Is thinking helping or hurting
It sounds good on paper but the feeling’s disconcerting
Bending and turning
Waist deep in a swift current currently on bended knee
Scanning skies for an elusive heaven
Waiting on something, but not too surely, for if salvation decides not to come to me
I’d walk anywhere to the crystal stair
To get me where
I want to be
I’ll get there eventually
Even though I’m not there yet I won’t let it start disturbing me
Currently