As quickly as the first is whisked away
The second was too far to begin with
There has now been far too many to count
I stopped after the first
They seem the same after a while
Like a stack of rocks on a log
Nevertheless
I stack them

I miss the analog sounds of the controller

I miss the overlapping sounds of footsteps amongst the sticks and leaves

I miss the sonorous sounds of a reel being cast into shallow water draped in ripples

I miss soviet style ballet dancing amidst the arguments in the kitchen

I miss the back pain from letting you have the nice side of the bed

I miss letting the love **** me

women views words like currency
where hurt is the apex of money
and the love and camaraderie
one a prisoner searches for in the cracks of his walls
is just a vehicle for the softening of the shell
one they've erected
after one too many 'you're my diamond"
when they're just feeling the pressure of one
well my words are gold, woman
and I tell you
you were born gilded
impervious to these poison laden speeches
where you were taught to hate your fellow girl
and to die for the man who kills you
they may speak all they want
but you will stand bold and ironclad with closed mouth
saving your last word for a rainy day

A brand new Lego set is splayed on the floor.
Fluttering pages threaten calloused fingers as the reader flips through pages.
The loose pieces clink together as delicate hands sift through them.
The bright colors flash and blend together in the pile.
Piece by piece the two finish their structure.
Though some pieces are missing, and some are out of place, the structure is beautiful, and they are content.
As it's lifted to its final place, one of the hands slip, and the structure falls to the floor.
It crumbles apart.
For a moment, the builders hold each other, then one speaks to the other.
"That's okay. They're meant to be put together again."

Does my name strike you in the chest
like arctic wind on bare skin
or a heatwave from an oven door


Or have the memories and associations turned to blank
An image to picture
A scent to happenstance
The words to just sounds


Did my face fade to another then to silhouettes then to shapes
only to appear in a restaurant booth or each puddle along Route 8

Carry with you that piece of me however small it may be
even if my name is just another outline amidst infinity

A kiss goodbye has many things in-between
Like when I call you back ten paces out for another
I always find a way to keep you there for another farewell
I will always have another goodbye in me for you
So much so you'll feel as if you never had to go

Caught you hiding in the little things
Like the written word
From that you cannot run
The crumbled letter once written so cold
now sits, smoldering at the depth of a trash can
and you lay there, smoke in nostrils and eyes watering
Until the brimstone and ash beckons
And you dig your hand into the refuse and waste
Pulling out the fire to ease the tears and cacophony
Only for it to wither in your hands
And you will lay there again
Eyes clear and white like lily of the valley
With vacant lungs and a yearnful demeanor
Wishing the burn would go away

a man who lives in semantics

who ignores colors and exists monochromatically

wept when he could not solve his problems

he spent so long with the flower under the microscope

that he never got a chance to smell it

I don't even know who I write to anymore
do I hope you'll stumble across my work
that you'll tell yourself "just one more line" again and again
And when you reach the end you'll read again
until there's nothing left to find
and you'll sob and tears will distort the screen
you'll wipe them away and forget all about this

one time my dog brought me a squirrel he had half killed

and I stood staring at it quiver, half alive, with a baseball bat in my hand

dog barking and my ears shaking

and I couldn't bring myself to do it

I watched it die and laid its body adjacent to our creek

I will not be an angel of death

Springtime comes and we are still cold
Where you wave flowers in lieu of my hands
Chrysanthemums are my favorite
In them lie hidden a poison veiled by colors and patterns
But you didn't know
They were dead before my fingers connected
She loves me, she loves me too much i say as pick the dead petals
Before they were all gone and my breath to the wind
The angel on my shoulder is ignoring me and the devil is on vacation
and its just me
all alone with my vices and stonewall demeanor
tall as the shadow of the tree i hide under
and you are so high up
breathing in mountain air and living
As above so below it hurts
miles above me and yet you dont look down on me
Instead you extend a hand down
And i kept getting lower and lower
Until your arm reached its limit
And i peel my skin off trying to find the reason
the chronic ennui and morose feeling juxtaposed with your canyon length smile
To realize I am no more a man the more layers are gone
just getting closer inside to the boy who never healed
You never saw all the times i wanted to cry
to wail and scream and tell you what was killing me
the poison in me for so long
i tried to keep it contained
only for it to spread like wildfire
Why did it take you dying for me to love you?

I want to taste the flavor her words again
Where she spoke sweet and left something sour in word
And it was salt in the wound and acid in the cut
She was my obesity
Now, I am half the man I used to be.

What can you write about a woman that hasn't been said yet?

Do you tell her things she's heard in past lives or ones she's yet to hear in future lives

I do not worry about redundancy

Instead I will learn ways that cannot be replicated

Languages that have yet to convey such meaning

I will be the wake: the light, the dawn

the cosmic inclination to summon you

with the hope our stardust collides again