the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.

I never really liked
my name much
until I found out
what it tastes like
when you sigh it
into my mouth

A Crush*

There was something different about you
something I can’t really put my finger on.

Maybe it was the way you laughed and flashed your dynamite smile
and tucked your hair behind your ear
that made me think that god might actually be real after all.

Maybe it was the way your blue eyes
were deeper the ocean and held twice as many secrets.

Maybe it was the way you always managed to stay on my mind
like the ink stains on my fingers that stubbornly refuse to wash out.

Maybe it was the way you carefully
calculated every syllable and significant sound to ever escape your lips
in order to never waste a breath.

Maybe it was just the way you cared.

Maybe it was the way you bought your sweaters large
and owned fifty pairs of jeans
to cover up your battle scars
and appear like other teens.

Maybe it was the fact that you recognized
that art isn’t really found in a gallery or hung up on a wall
but found in the way the wind flows through the trees
and blows each one of the leaves a kiss
and the way the sun rises every day
and doesn’t ask for anything in return.

Maybe it was the way you manifest in this three dimensional space
the grace and poise with which you traversed it
the magnificent manner in which you allowed
the light to reflect off your skin
and the singsong splendor
you commanded of your voice.

Maybe it was just the concept of you
the hope that maybe
just maybe
you had these feelings too.

I am.
I am fish and brick and sun and moon and sky and earth and river and forest and thunder and storm and silence.
I am light and dark and blood and sand and sinew and mud and bone and fear and loathing.
I am ambition and broken trust and betrayal and broken promises.
I am triumph and failure and love and loss.
I am the summer breeze and the arctic blizzard, I am the waves crashing upon the shore and the sunlight warming the lizards on the rocks.
I am the stars that shine in the night sky and the nebulae being born past the purview of your eyes.
I am the vast nothingness of space and the infinitesmal denseness of singularity.
I am the space between heartbeats and the silence between words.
I am the oneness of all things, the internal nirvana, the consciousness of the universe and its fleshy manifestation.
I am good.
I am evil.
I am god.
I am me.
I am you.
I am we.
I am.

you were once the object of my affection
now you are the vehicle for my introspection
I used to love you, but now with every slipping
second
minute
hour
day
and week
I can feel you drifting farther away.
my once crimson heart has turned a solemn shade of grey.

POETRY IS NOT PUBLISHED IN A BOOK
OR SCRIBBLED IN A JOURNAL.

IT IS NOT COMPOSED OF STRICT METER AND RHYME,
STANZA AND STRUCTURE,
ASSONANCE AND ALLITERATION.

POETRY IS NATURE.

POETRY IS NON-SEQUITUR.

POETRY IS THE WAY OUR HIPS AND LIPS
INTERTWINE LIKE GRASPING VINES
WITH DETERMINATION AND GRACE
THAT IS SIMPLY DIVINE.

POETRY IS THE WAY YOU WAKE UP ON A LAZY SUMMER SUNDAY MORNING
AND LISTEN TO THE HEARTBEAT OF YOUR LOVER
LYING NOT TOO FAR AWAY.

POETRY IS THE COMPASSION AND SELFLESS DESIRE
THAT CAUSES US TO BUY MEALS FOR STRANGERS
AND TIP EXTRA JUST FOR THE HELL OF IT.

POETRY IS THE FACT THAT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF US IS ANOTHER INFINITELY RANDOM MANIFESTATION OF THE UNIVERSE ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND ITSELF THROUGH CONVOLUTED COSMIC INTROSPECTION.

POETRY IS THE WAY THAT THE STARDUST FLOWS THROUGH OUR VEINS AND THE LIMITLESS POTENTIAL OF HUMAN CREATIVITY HIDES JUST OUT OF SIGHT BEHIND OUR EYES.

POETRY IS THE WAY THE WISE WINDS BLOW SOFTLY THROUGH THE TREES, WHISPERING SECRETS TO ANYONE WHO WISHES TO HEAR.

POETRY IS THE WAY THE RIVER LOVINGLY EMBRACES EACH AND EVERY PEBBLE IN THE RIVERBED LIKE A MOTHER HOLDING HER NEWBORN SONS.

POETRY IS ORGANIC.
MALLEABLE.
THESE WORDS ARE NOT POETRY -
LIFE IS POETRY.
DEATH IS POETRY.
LOVE -
LOSS -
STRIFE -
SUCCESS -
POETRY.
WE ARE POETRY.

i have forgotten how it feels
to have your fingers interlocked with mine
please remind me

i can't quite recall
the warmth of your head upon my chest
please remind me

i can't seem to describe
the singsong splendor with which words wander from your lips
please remind me

i have misplaced the memory
of the tantalizing texture of your lips
upon mine
please remind me

i have forgotten how it feels to be loved
please remind me