i hope to one day
find love so strong
that i see the streets
as pavement. and not
the spaces around
my shoes.

id love to tell you
all about the mountains,
but the truth is
i dont care.
not yet anyway.
a mountain is just
something else
i cant enjoy on my own.

leave a knife
in your thigh and
try to write about
anything else.

until real love
hits me like a hook
to the nose
ill live in hopes quicksand.
sinking with a smile.

it is mid july
and hotter than sin.
some friends and i
drove to the beach
to watch the shore
erode.

i drank some gin
and we talked about
television. i laughed
like i would die
tomorrow.

when we left
and my feet were
******
i couldnt help but
remind myself
that i was happy.

and on the drive home
two friends kiss
in the back like
you do when you
think you have it
figured out
and all you want
is the whole world
and its staring back
at you and even smiles
if you kiss it on
the mouth.

and all i could
think about is the boy
i was mean to as
a child and how
he died before i
could ever say
sorry and really
mean it.

i cant help but
twist a knife
if i see one.

i am stuck in a
tangerine dream.
a breath of fresh air
or just air
that seems fresh
to me.

red face
quilled with ice cold
water.

there is only beauty
between the cracks
of contrast.

//

i cant call myself
a poet
if i dont tell you
that her lips
look soft.

they could heal me
like a bandaid
and hurt just as much
to peel off.

it doesnt feel like
virginia yet.
maybe only
vermont
or conneticut.

but im ready
to go home
if home feels
like it used to.