blue house
brown house
tan house

brown house
blue house

brown house
brown house
brown house

backyard inside the fence
rocks inside of rivets

dead grass and
rocks inside rivets
rocks inside rivets

bridge over tracks
bridge over trails
bridge over the river
bridge over rails

parking lot
parking lot
parking lot
parking lot

high school called
a dead man’s name

circle
avenue
court
lane

yellow stained fingers
i wanted to paint myself
a happy picture

splatter the cheap canvas
with a bit of acrylic sunshine
layer it on in heaps

i’ve never believed in
the moderation of joy

finger print smudges in gobs
of goldenrod and daffodil

couldn’t find the patience to wait
for abundance to settle in

footprint on the rug
i never watch where i’m going
stepped right on it

call it artistic liberty
it probably means something
when i figure it out
i’ll call it a sign

maybe next time i’ll know better
than to let it dry
on the living room floor

probably not though

anyway, i never minded
the messes we make
when we’re too busy living
to clean up after ourselves

looked at you for too long
and then i realized
you are human, too

fallible
uncertain
flawed

piously pined for
palatial splendor i
placed in my dreams of you,
imperfect you

and it's no ones fault
a figure headed facade
fabricated by figments
of my frivolous imagination

put you on a pedestal
made you divine
made you holy

you, the ceiling
high above my head
and i, looking up
in the sistine chapel

untouchable
untarnished

couldn't see the cracks
beneath the varnish

then, close enough to study
a faint fresco with critical eyes
fantasy faded in the fault lines
of your frowning face

looked for too long
until i realized
you were just as broken as me

a collection of shattered pieces
shrouded and shy
once a shrine
now a shriek

wide eyes on you
a sinner, still
i called you sacred

ignoring the nature of
the irreverent, the profane

liked the luster
of longing lingering
on my lips
when i breathed your name

the veil torn
the truth beheld
and you are not god

gambling grief and
gleaming gloom
thought i could be
the sun to your moon

majesty to malignancy
momentarily merciful
moreover cruel

monstrous mr monsoon
after all, human, too

i could pull the sheets
up and over my head

i could shut out the day
and hide from the light

but i can't escape the fear
i hold tight within my chest

will i always be running
in search of something better

wondering if i mistakenly
fled the best?

why is it
when the sky is dark, heavy
holding onto every ounce
of moisture it can
just before its fingers
are too exhausted to hold on anymore

when the air is thick, dense
with the weight of the world
resting itself on our chests
and burdening our shoulders
underneath its pressure
that I feel lighter?

my head feels clear
and everything inside of me
which once seemed a mystery
is suddenly unveiled
in a beautiful, crystalline way

perhaps it’s because
when I look inward
at my own atmosphere
I see the fog
I see the clouds

a constant waiting game
to open the floodgates
that reside under my eyelashes
and cleanse my core
of all the things
weighing me down

isn’t it liberating to know
despite the storm blowing
around in your brain

there is a whole wide world
that will keep the pace
without ever stopping
to consider your storm

time keeps running
the earth still spins
and the rest of the world moves on.

there is hope in that for you, too.

and i guess i learned
the hard way that
chasing you is like
chasing the sunset
  
i am running towards you
but when i reach out to
hold you in my hand
fingertips grasp at empty air

a master of disguise
appearing so close, but you were
distant, off in the distance giving
the horizon line goodnight kisses

you belong to the wind
the light, the sky, the stars
you belong to everything,
but you do not belong to me.