I want to believe
Maybe
Can I persuade you
Perhaps
Someday

a better blue Sky will hold our love

suppressed sloshes slurp and squeeze though the gaps
in the oppressive thickness of forced silence.
patchy grass islands emerge eerily still
from the murk and muck of standing water

a land blanketed in purposelessness,
like an old man whose life is all spent in negotiations with time,
who sits in a chair and waits
for death to whisper in his half-deaf ears.

the land sits and waits and knows the inevitability of death.
slurp and slush,
the heavy boots feign stealth

silence amplifies subtle metallic clicks,
small metal masses jostle in a tunnel slung across a back.

the grass leans in to hear
the stifled breaths hiding in suspense,
betraying an inner working of fear.

sift and shush,
the soft brush of camouflage clothing against blistered skin.
there is no coldness in the air but the body shakes,
there is no heat in the air but the body sweats.

the air holds nothing but weight
and the body’s shoulders bend under it.
a weak wind carries whispers to paranoid ears,
and the metal mass meets fire and propels to an end

the air is unbearably thick to be pierced by such a sharp noise

it lays heavy on the crushed tufts of grass
that now hold the bones of a young body
that housed a mind old with terror.
beads of sweat still on a motionless corpse.

A grey shroud
A perfect cloud
My spirit leaps and becomes the mist
And I dissipate with the gentle roll of wind

You should paint
(and draw and sketch and sculpt and everything else)
but I think you’ve heard me say that before
and I think I will just trust that you will when you are ready to.
But in the mean time, know that even when you do not paint,
you paint through the people around you.
I would never have made this painting
if it hadn’t been for our friendship.
(and Mary Oliver)
all the ways you influence the people around you,
they matter--
they filter into that person’s life work
and so,
your life is your art:
your poetry, your math,
your conversations, your eye contact,
your laughter, your tears,
your love, your care.
These are the tendrils you send out
and they blossom into art
all around you
in some ways you will recognize
and others you will never know.

“I’m not good at art”
*******

my attraction to ideas :
a semblance of magnetism ;
inward force drawn to outward concepts --
my core screams in motion !
to mythic place of eventual knowing ?
every form of expression inadequate
for this churning yearning that expands past my skin \
when a new possible truth blooms red in my mind.

a breath, a dream before
a leaving of things
familiar and homely

an embarking, a seeking
a finding of things
unfamiliar and foreign

full of play and serious laughter,
art is paradox incarnate in myth
pregnant with the past
birthing pangs of wonder into the wide
world, world make space for this new form,
open arms and kind eyes
let your questions swell with empathy,
cascade your inner mess and let it
bathe in vulnerable light of the honest gaze,
undress undress to the truth
and explore how gravity plays with form,
your form, his form, her form,
all form in space and embodying time

As I sit there silent
Thoughts tumble over each other
Pouring through my mind,
Trying to make it to my tongue
But they trip each other and
Fall and collapse
Before any of them can make it out

So when I sit there silent
It's not because I'm dumb
It's not because I'm young
It's because my mind is a whirlwind
Of thoughts and ideas
That come out as colors and feelings
And strokes and notes and chords
And sorting them out
Into a presentable form
Is like picking through
A junk yard of valuables
Where I want to keep everything
But it won't all fit in my arms
So it slips through and I'm left
With nothing
On top of my tower
Of precious thoughts
That I can't hold together

You ask how I am and what I think
But do you really want to know
The turmoil and loss and confusion
That mixes so strangely with
Confidence and success and calm
Because right now my body
Is a pulsing mass of contradiction
And containing and controlling my
Scattered mind
Is a deeply daunting task

So when I sit there silent
It's not because I'm dumb
And it's not because I'm young

It's because the articulation of the dizzying complexity that constantly swims in my mind
Requires time and effort to unwind
And I panic when you look at me
With those ever expectant eyes
Because I'm afraid you think I'm dumb
And I'm afraid you think I'm young
But time has passed
And still my thoughts suspend
in a tangled mess
Knotted and ragged behind my tongue

And so
I sit there silent

a silver cigarette
half smoked
lying shimmering ghostlike
on the sandy concrete steps
in an otherwise dull world

a styrofoam cup
partially disfigured
tumbling noisily
over the abandoned bridge
in an otherwise silent world

a body of rushing liquid
entirely hidden
babbling of its depth
deep in the underground sewer system
in an otherwise shallow world


the things you walk past at 3:07 am
when the transit system is closed
and there is no parking on campus
so you walk
bare feet and mala beads
and you realize
you aren't cold or afraid
despite temperature or statistics:
******* numbers

some kind of hole not felt before
a new absence an unfamiliar gape
a desire for someone
on whom i could shower fondness
like spring rain and
pour passion on
like a summer storm
and float affection on
like a winter snow
someone to mindfully walk through the seasons with
knowing that their current state will pass
but present in their ephemeral beauty
and trusting in their nature to come again

Spindles, white, and notched with slate grey
Rise to meet, and blush to be seen
By the Star-gaze, unclouded.
They glow in thanks for such
Glorious recognition
Their pearlescent sheen is
A testament to the power
Of a warm and honest gaze.

my bowl

pale earth tan

rimmed with sky

was so full

of beauty

that it had

to break


when it burst

against the

stony ground

all the kind

and simple mornings

spent cradled in

my grateful

grateful hands

vaulted forth

into the air

like a firework

of catastrophic

and necessary

beauty


and i know

that i too

must break

every day

to let

the beauty of

my kind mornings

burst against

the stony ground

of the lonely

lonely world

to release

my grateful bliss

to the tan

earth and the

ever rimmed sky

what do you do, closest friends,
when everyone around you breaks?
when their cracks fissure out
and chunks and fragments spill
and spatter the unforgiving ground

what do you do, closest friends,
when you are the sounding board
for each and every cry
when you hold their head in your lap
and you call them the whole way home

what do you do, closest friends,
when there is so much breaking around you,
can to tend your own cracks
can you mend your own terra-cotta
with your own glue like you taught me to?

Let those who's heads and words you've held
relentlessly kindly and honestly,
guide the glue through your spreading cracks
and teach them to mend again

and lets repeat
until we are all beautiful mosaics of breaking
and mending

We smelled of the cheap heat
That blasted through the 1997 Volvo
To defrost our delusional minds
And our hands swept through
the passing wind
With elegance and vitality
Akin to living truly
And the music fluttered through air
And the lyrics came to rest
Settling like leaves in the end of autumn
On the grassy floor of our innocent minds

Bent man, still proud,
Dark pants, brown coat,
Firm belt, white socks,
Lopped gait, slow,
Slow,
No cane, yet
Places need going
Even and especially by the
Old.
I stand a pedestrian witness
To his crosswalk constitutional
It matters not to him
that the red sign blinks
With the eyes of onlookers
Who follow the icons
of social construction.
I feel something like pride
For the figure still bent,
Crossing,
But the pride is not mine
So I release it with an exhale
And hope it reaches some kind corner
Of this difficult world.

not everything need be gentle,
there is beauty in force
that so enwraps the vital voice of
our inner world,
when passion spins in
centripetal force of energetic sensation,
trust that the center will find
home again
but not now, not then,
not in the midst of this spring storm of
bitter anger
that must purge the ground of yesterday’s
grime and stale memory.

something in me
   dislodged
        out of place
                mis    placed
crooked
bent or
bro
      ken
something        off
    peculiar   at least       odd and un
                                                         comfortable
unsettling

    unsettled
          all stirred up
                 messy

                     entirely unrefined
if i try to point to the pain
                                              it moves

shifty
    shy
        secluded

the something in me

      dislogedbrokenoutofplaceconfusedmaybebrokenpossiblyatleastbe­nt

a dull kind of bent ache

theres a woman
at least i think a woman
who shuffles feet close to the floor
one boot crunched
her heel isn't where it should be in her shoe
but she doesn't seem to notice or care
horizontal striped shirt and loose blue jeans
spiked blond hair
her eyes sag opposite her hair
exaggerating the effect

theres a man in a wheelchair
i've never seen thinner shins under thick body
he looks smaller than he is
perhaps an optical illusion
he has glasses thin framed and his belly a perfect sphere
mounted on his lap.
he calls to the attendant
all he needs is to be pushed out to the parking lot
his ride is here but he can't move his own body

there's an old woman named patty
she leans on a pink and purple cane
the pattern rubbed down to the metal where
her hand always clutches the curve
she has high blood sugar
she didnt want to come
but the attendants at the nursing home made her
and she had just been bragging about how long it had been
since her last ER visit.
She had to call her son roland to drive her here

theres a son named roland
we made eye contact as soon as he came in and he is kind
he holds eye contact in that way that people do when
they feel responsible for a situation
and need to connect with another human.
he got his mother water with ice,
and she said she didnt need ice-
-like it was a luxury, not an inconvenience

There was a woman crying
i think her loved one was burned somehow
2nd degree, did i hear? on the face?
her family comes and she cries and hugs
and her father tries to tell her she should go home
she's not going home
theres no way that woman is going home
she calls people and coordinates with family and friends
and you can feel the panic radiating from her

there are two teen girls who sit in the low chairs
i've never seen two people look more tired or
drained
eyes red and heavy
sweat pants and socks in sandals
messy ponytail and bun
and they don't speak to each other
they just sit
and stare at the ground
seemingly endlessly.



i bet they are all still there except the man with the spherical belly and the thin shins.
i suppose none of us make it out of this life alive
its just that sometimes i forget
how many talk with death before they meet him
sometimes i forget how their families weep
for that conversation
i forget that emergency rooms even exist.

every once in a while
i ache

i ache to know

to know another feeling
that fills the same space

the same space this ache
currently fills so completely
so deeply it seeps into my crevices

my crevices left empty
from lack of experience

of experience so foreign

so foreign that i ache
just once in a while

I yearn to exist in a space where the stars all but blaze
Where stars aren't celebrities
Where they bask in the night sky unpolluted
And just exist
I crave truly being in an environment that does not depend upon phone screens
Where my peers and myself do not walk through life in an addicted daze
Unaware of the haze that descends as an effect of such technological dependence
We are walking around with our eyes unconsciously searching for the stimulus that society constantly feeds us
These electronic signals flashing upon thin panels of glass
And This is what we call Living
The dopamine flooding our brain when that text vibration brings our popularity to attention
Capturing our attention holding it captive
We are prisoners of our own purchases
Rusting our humanity away enchained
In a web of unsocial media and notifications
We never have any silence

When was the last time you just sat silent doing nothing

When was the last time you allowed your mind even a sliver of space to just exist

You hand me a Piece of dotted paper and a pen
And you tell me
To connect the little black dots
But as I look at the paper it expands
It grows and stretches till it is an ocean
Massive expansive and the dots drift farther apart on the waves
And I lose them among the ocean spray
So when you hand me the paper and a pen
And expect me to connect the dots
Sometimes I'm being tossed in a storm
And sometimes connectivity is not a possibility
Sometimes I can't do what you ask me to
Because to me the dots are an ocean apart
And I've no clue how to sail.

eyes that dive into mine
you swim in the blue green of my irises
and sink to the dark abyss of my pupil
i think you could drown

a voice that sings in prose
the rhythm and tone sweeps and glides
you speak as if every word is an entire poem
you must like how your voice sounds

a body that moves like the long grass in the wind
effortless saunter you grace the air  
your skin stretches to contain your essence
i wonder where your body will usher you

a mind that i do not yet know
tumbling with philosophies and theories
an artist an architect of emotions
you live in your mind

Faces swim before my stationary eyes
Like a school of brainwashed fish
Voices echo through my empty ears
Like chatter of foreign languages
Footsteps pound the surrounding ground
With more force than seems realistic
I'm the only one who's still
The only one not moving
And it's dizzying
How much they move

The splendor of magnitude gripped in a moment,
now is bursting at the seams,
the thread of steady logic unravels as
the sheets of sensation unveil the
silky boundlessness of time,
the paradox of infinite finitude, of finite infinity—

We exhale into the liminality between (un)certainties.
We find our rhythm to the music of experience
and we fall into ourselves, finding home between our ribs,
nestling into the cavity of being, we trip into each other,
fall in embrace, and rise in ecstasy of laughter.

Folding loving into aching,
Tasting euphonic resonance—
We are copper rays of light, exuberant !
flitting between the morning maple leaves,
we dance with the frolicsome tails of grass,
we hum in deep synchrony till the moon reflects our lily cheeks,
we taste the immanent stars and dive into
the phosphene galaxies behind our eyes.

The construct of measured days recedes
and there is only this brimming space to inhale
between certainties of light and dark
and we inhabit it with a bold stomp and a wild laugh.

i sit in the left corner of the couch
swelling with the joy that permeates our clothes to our skin
conversations spinning webs around us
that glow in the light streaming through the window

this is more than enough
this is everything

ha
and i have to try hard not to be embarrassed
my my own 'poetry'

Her mind was a swirling city
With streets and buildings and stop lights
Woven together as tight as they dared
Bustling people, ideas, swarmed the streets and sidewalks
Pushing to their destinations
None stopped to talk
I was so insignificant
So trivial
A tourist they had been trained to ignore
I sat and watched.
For hours I did nothing but watch
The marvel that is her mind
How it ticked ever on at dizzying speed
A spider web of sprawling streets

We watched moments float by like snowy cotton in the spring
Quietly passing sweetly sifting through the winds of time to settle on the floors of our souls
On that soul floor we began to ***** structures--
Buildings of belief and behavior and style and security
Only to watch them shake then tumble
from hurricanes and tsunamis of life and circumstance
I think many of us struggled alone for a while against the weather of time,
afraid to expose how little we knew


But Eventually we began to speak to one another
We began to poke little timid invitations to conversations and relationships
and we began to discover
That everyone's structures were tumbling in different ways

We came to know each other
in the shared vulnerability of the unknown

Those were the days when
instead of tirelessly piling on bricks we knew would fall
We gathered around a bonfire on that lovely soul floor
and we found community and connection
And we left what was heavy behind

Grounded in our view of the fiery stars above us
and the coolness of the earth below
We danced together through uncontrollable laughter
And we let our eyes drift out of focus
to see the beauty in the shape of things
As night drew on we huddled close against the fear and cold
of the coming season unknown
And then at dawn we watched the sun rise with meditative minds
And when it rained we donned bare feet
and splashed the puddles
and then we tangled our fingertips in the rainbows and
Tasted the droplets on our tongues and sleeves

Through this time we learned to question the very ground beneath our feet
And the air in which we breath
We began to learn how to surrender the moments
to the ever shifting winds of time
We asked hard questions
Ones we didn't know the answers to
And still don't
And maybe never will

These are more than experiences and memories
They are our identity now
They watered the soul ground on which
Instead of building structures again we began to plant gardens

I go into this next season with my soul garden
in which each of you planted a seed
Thank you. endlessly.

His mind was a factory
A bustling grey and charcoal factory
With machines to create thoughts
But all so systematically
All so perfect precise concise
Not a mistake not a slip was made
The sounds of smooth clicks
And echoes under foot vibrations
All was smooth
All was purposeful
Until she asked for a tour
She asked with innocence and naivety
And he let her in tentatively
She marveled at his systemic mind  
And questioned and awed.
But no one had ever
Entered his mind like this before
And she distracted him
They heard a crash
as a machine malfunctioned
And a thought toppled and shattered
The pieces exploding like a firecracker
Against the grey charcoal floor
He panicked and tried to pick up the pieces
But echoes of a breaking mind tore at his ears
As more thoughts shattered.
He was loosing control
And all because of her
This girl was making him lose his mind
He went to a corner and tried to regain himself
Closed eyes and shaking heart
He sat and stayed,
Oblivious
Emerging he stared
Stared at the prices of his shattered mind
That she arranged
Into an intricate mosaic
And somehow in that moment
He saw a beauty in the brokenness
Something he had never seen before

I sometimes write
Of stories and fantasies
And these words spill from my fingers
Frighteningly effortlessly as they tell
Of passionate romances and crushing heart shatters and death of innocence
But I've never felt these things and
I feel fraudulent and cruel
Claiming feelings to which I have no right
And I wonder where these words come from that
Spill so easily from my finger tips
Because they aren't from experience
And they aren't true
Rereading them only embarrasses and confuses me
So should I validate them at all?
Mom peers at me worriedly as I try to convince her that I only used first person for form purposes
As I try to prove to her that this was (some bizarre) imagination and not some reality she wasn't aware of

I don't know how a kiss would feel on my lips.
Love and infatuation are strangers to my heart and mind.
I don't know how it hurts to be truly rejected or hated by someone I love.
To be so enraptured in someone else that the lines between us fade: a foreign and unfamiliar concept to my soul.
I don't know how hard it is to make mistakes in romances.
I've never come home giddy and unable to stop smiling because of a boy.
I don't know.
There's so very much I do not know.
And the absence of that knowledge feels like an object I don't have a place for inside my home of a mind.
Awkward and in the way and too obvious
But I don't know if I want to get rid of it yet.
It's oddity has become a part of me,
And it's absence would mean grieving a change
I'm not prepared for.

I broke last night
Last night the tears cascaded down the worn wet tracks from my eyes down the valleys of my face to my tucked chin
My body convulsed and shook
And my breath could not find itself
It heaved and hoved and sputtered and shattered
And it could not find itself
My mind pulled away from its head and stretched and snapped in pain
I decided not to care that I felt drips pour from my nostrils over my shaking lips
I stared into the black abyss of grain and spattering absence of closed eyes and clenched lids
My fingers ran miles through my strained strips of hair curled and knotted around my hands
I was a very small ball of angry sadness in a very large world of conflicting beauty and pain and love and ignorance. And I broke to feel it all.

i dreamed i smoked a cigarrette
felt its silky breath glide down my insides
calming and resolving what felt unsettled
as i walked with midnight, my solitary companion,
down a deep blue lit street

can i even describe the purity that silky white substance
introduced at the bottom of my belly
how clean and calm it felt--almost sweet
yet mixed with guilt and fear of addiction
and everything i had been told and knew
it was nothing like i knew a cigarette to be

what was it i dreamed up a cigarette to calm
what is it that stirs in me, unsettled
that i can't seem to resolve
what am i not finding in my waking hours
that i needed to escape to my dreams to resolve,
what in me craves to taste the smoke that
i've never waking let inside my lungs

i fall in love with people all the time
a laugh here
a pleasant face there
the innocence of a moment caught in a glance
a moment and a half of eye contact and i fall in love with people
all the time
i see their curiosity as they wonder
why i see them
why i take the time to see them
the energy
and its because loving is my lifeblood
and it pulses within me
its the loving that sustains me
that wakes me up and gives me restful sleep
that moves my bare feet across the earth and
runs my eyes deep into the forests we wander together
because it's the loving that constitutes my bones
that holds me up that gives me form
its the loving that moves the muscles that tug upward at the corners of my mouth
its the loving that blows bubbles in my lungs that escape as laughter
its the loving that brings tears when they are raw and needed too

i fall in love with people all the time

the sweetness
of a moment
held
in tension
sandwiched between due-dates and
dead-lines
the allure
of a stolen moment
suspended
in the chaos
a moment of the purest
beauty I've ever witnessed
it is beautiful to be transitory

I met you in early in the fall
When the winter wind hid
Biding it's time
On the stale summer air
Then the cold overcame
And I saw the bitter wind
Tumble and whip your hair
And I watched as the leaves pushed the
Last bits of color through their stems
Before they gave up
And drifted away in the consuming wind
The months grew long as
The wood supply dwindled
And tempers grew short
Friends snapped like the twigs underfoot
Hope cracked like the leaves
And time froze like the icicles
And you didn't want
To go on
What made you go on?
While I was a twig cracked on the ground
I did not notice how suddenly
Spring had sprung
The twigs and leaves decomposed and
The icicles melted
And all to fuel the flowers
The wonderful flowers that now covered
The ground radiating from you in circles
Racing in ripples to touch everything
With their joy and resilience
It's a mystery to me
How such beauty came out of such
Loss
But it is a beautiful mystery none the
Less  

I guess now I see
That even in
the darkest winter
Flower seeds are there
waiting for the right time
To bloom

I guess now I see
That you need the
Broken twigs and
Cracked leaves and
Frozen icicles
To feed the flowers

I guess now I see
That maybe the season
Wasn't your choice
That maybe seasons just
Happen
And that is okay

a flash of backwards attraction
eloquence of erupted sensation
permanence of pressing agendas
episodes of earthly silence
i could follow my mind
into oblivion

It didn't surprise me when
You plunged your knife of words
Through my very heart
Again
What surprised me was the lack of blood
The lack of pain and the lack of hurt I felt
I watched the blade pass through my chest
Absently
My body turned clear in anticipation
Of your deadly diction
And suddenly I was immune
I had learned to cope
Finally after all this time
My body learned
That something had to give  
So I became a ghost each time
And your frustration welled
Because you no longer had power
Over me
I was my own again
Yes I had scars in my ghostly self
But no more sting of a blade,
no more gush of blood
No more cry of tears
I was my own again

I: the logs bitter cold and crude
Lumped together in careless toss
Brittle blue and grey

You: the fire passionate full and bold
Wrapping me in consuming embrace
smothering smooth and fierce

Chemistry we have all too much
Our elements attract ferociously
I thought
Thought
Of possible perfection
That your tendrils of light could soothe
My aching cracks
But I forgot
I never fathomed
That fire and wood attract so deeply
Because one consumes the other

I realize I'm burning
Searing heat flows in pulses through
My panicked form
But I'm helpless hapless done
Finished

As I turn to ash and smoke I still admire your flame
Your relentless flame that eats away beautifully at my crumbling frame

I watch the game
With amusement but sadness and pity too
Because they both love each other
But neither can commit
To the potential heartbreak
That could ensue from honesty
So they stay
And poke little references
Or clues or leads
But weak ones
That slip out sideways and seep
Into the floor before
They can be collected
Half hearted efforts
For an achingly full hearted two
Hesitation
Restraint
Fear

Kind is the path that wanders
in tandem with my spirit
It unfolds through arcs and mounds
as if my slow careful steps
somehow through their quiet voice
invite the trail to dance
a gentle careless waltz
through the meandering sunlight
that sifts through the blushing leaves
and lands in quilted patches
on the breathing ground.

We have been lulled into dis-remembrance.
We stride through the asphalt city,
unrelenting heat radiating from the simmering un-ground
insulated by our rubber soles
(illusion of invincibility)
We were born into the city and we will die in the city,
where the wild comes to us as a postcard
through the TV, the only place birds of paradise still dance.
All we know are the weeds screaming for life
through the penny cracks in our grit and grime,
All we know are the pigeons with eyes burning red
and toes wrapped and amputated from yesterdays scraps,
their earnest croaks urgent “know! know! know!”
Know the wild for what it once was and could still be!

We do not remember this ground before cement pummeled the
roots of the great trees,
We do not remember how the night sky beamed to starlit cheeks,
Nor how the streams used to run clear and
full to their crests of fish,
We do not remember how great planes shook
with the hooves of the great migrations
of the beasts that knew always their destination —
that home was written in their memories!
“know! know! know!”
Tear up the synthetic web and
find within yourself the buried path,
the trail back to the home your deep soul knows.
Let us become wild again and remember our humble role
in this great wide world,
let us come home, from this concrete dream.

these streets taste like nostalgia
i haven’t finished chewing
and i already miss their flavor

let me walk you home,
love,
your eyes soften and
bind to mine
and we set on
wordless
but filled with meaning
mutually understood

We've got fire on our tongues
But we're suffocating
Suffocating cause we can't speak

Words turn to ashes in our mouths
And their dust exhales in our breath

There's no sound
To voice these thoughts
So they echo in our minds
Tumbling circling in our heads

And we are lost inside ourselves.

when you feel an ache
the ache of missing
theres a shovel
carving out a shape in you
and you feel the friction
as a part of you is displaced
disjointed
unwholed
holed
holy reverence for an ancient feeling
how long in our history have we missed
have we ached
this common thread in our diverging paths
knitting together humanity
the fabric of missing

"missing" hangs
              like lose fabric
                        on my skin
that I feel hollow beneath

"it" covers me, yet
              leaves me feeling
        exposed
aware of a vacancy

i sit perched on the cliffs
a finite edge separating me from a sky scraper dive
to lacy waves that continually unfurl ever gasping
my body perched on impervious stone
i want to melt
to seep down and through the cracks of
this unforgiving earth
i want to dissipate
to be free of this solid form
and sink between the layers of
this mineral collage
i am me and the rock is the mineral
but i want to be the rock and the mineral, me.
I want my skin to release my essence so i can
soar
as the gulls
quiver
as the daring wildflowers
sit ever patiently
as the stone
not in a metaphorical sense, understand.
in the realest way, the most literal translation.
dont mistake my words for poetry.

Do you think he would slow down if I asked nicely?
do you think that if I snapped in his distracted face he would notice?
do you think that if I bumped shoulders with him he would change his course?
do you think if I threw a tantrum at his feet  he would take pity and pause for a moment?
Do you think if I grabbed his face and forced him to look in my eyes he would see how I needed more of him?
that ****** man: Time.

like a typical distracted teen with his earplugs in listening to some irrelevant tune
walking unaware of his movements their repercussions,
walking so fast--propelling the rest of us forward in front of him
through a relentless pace.
He affects everyone and sees no one.
none

My mind spins in tandem with the wheels
Under the running engine beneath my feet
With each mile thoughts form
And ideas connect
And my mind is spinning spinning spinning

My skin
It's cold
It's brittle silver frosted
Stretched too thin
Cracking in the creases
Of skinny wrists

It's stretched too thin
Over my pulsing blood
The Crimson blood gushing
With electric heat
Pounding too hard against
My brittle silver frosted skin