They walk beside me
                                      always late for something.
                                         Quickening loafers
                                   compete against themselves        
                                  emphasising their importance.    
                                                       Go!
                                       Choking on their breath
                          in an over-zealous attempt to identify
                                             What's freedom?

                                          This fastened reality
                                         Punctures inner peace
                                          my energy disperses
                       Like a balloon buzzing as it loses momentum.
                              When did Life become a marathon?
                            When will I decide where I want to be?
                                  
                         ­         Conversations shout themselves out..
                  an energetic argument before their words reach the air..
                          Will you ever confront your disguised pains?
                                            My mind's elsewhere..
                                           I'm trying to figure out
                         the last time I saw your body unclench itself.
                                    
                           ­                 And i'm a little confused,  
                         because I don't know whether to accept your denial
                                                          ­        or
                                    continue to disconnect from reality.  
                                                     And I question,
           If we all mirror eachother, what part of myself cannot find peace in you?

                                      
                   ­                      I observe this anxiety in motion
                                               stuck forever in a hurry
                       leading itself down roads that end where they began.
                                                  And I wonder,
                                           If their legs were to rest
                  would they have to pick their head up from the floor?

                                         
              ­                             Like buddhas in a city,
                               their lives are a fast forwarded tomorrow
                                       as the present hurries along.        
                                                   And I ponder,
                   Does the truth stop blinding when silence doesn't teach?

                                             A quickening motion             
                                         Changing with every step.
                                                   Acceleration..
                                                 human race...
                                                       ­ Go! 
                                            Chasing of thy death..

Distant bells start the day
the sun casts strips on blue-gray walls
cobwebs hanging lazily above
not strong enough to pull bodies
from beds
of hard wood and tiresome sleep

on the edge of this pencil, a poem
lazier
watching specs of dust
gracefully failing to fly

Early rising
needing more sand than most

The snow crisped to your eyes made me giggle
Made me wonder
About the lightness of snow

How the white in your lashes made them seem more wet
And how much heavier they would need to be
Before they bent

How heavy can your shoulders get
Before the shiver shakes the weight

I want lie beneath you
And catch your cold

The doctors asked me how long I’ve been feeling this way
I told them I didn’t know

One in particular
Gave me a mirror
Told me about actors
And how they would practice making different faces until they could completely control their emotions

When you feel sad practice happy
Practice angry
Practice solemn
Practice confused

With this much control I could be held accountable for everything

When I was 14 I learned what living looks like

In the mirror

It is that jaw dropped gasp for air
After the rope breaks
It is smiling at the neck bruises
It is being thankful for ******* up
Again

And now it is forced breathes of air
Visible in the cold
It is you smiling
Carefully wiping the wet from your eyes

The weight is building
White wet and heavy
But thanks to you
The bough is not breaking

It is slowly shedding
You collect it
To make a man
You make me

I ask you not to break branches from the bough
To give my man arms
I am afraid of the collapse
Maybe I can’t hold you the way I want to
But you have fixed me so much already

You have fixed me so much already
Flakes fill your lashes again
I laugh at how cute you are
When you fight to let them stay
The slow flutter
The pursed smile

I wonder about you
And am thankful at how much you have done

To fix me

There is no poet like a knife.
There is no rhyme like dance.
The first time I held your hand in mine
Was the only love poem I have given you.
Fists full of dirt
Beads of sweat on skin
I have understood God the most when it rains.
When elements collide and my face becomes water.
There is no profanity like absence.
There is no obscenity like callous.
The last time I shook my father's hand
Is the only praise I have known.