a man sits in the corner
in his hands; the small bits. the aches.

I couldn’t have loved you once
in a voice holding
a feeling stronger than regret.

on shoulders not broad enough
a shadow, heavier than memory.

it’s -2 degrees.
the sun can’t warm the chill.
overhead, the clouds
blotch daydreams paler.
all im thinking is
it’s been 2 years.
sighing on the glass makes
condensation collect.
like a river,
hold my mouth to the runoff.
i can’t run from grief in the cold sunshine.
but i’ll never let a loss leave me thirsty
for more.

I slept too long
do not know why
had my coffee at 9am
doomscrolling the news
on assorted media
(inter)national
        same difference

did not brighten my mood

the same idiots
spew the same phrases
they voiced one month ago
nothing has changed

and they call it progress

Why Men Cry in the Bathroom

For so many reasons.
I will tell you the why.
I think you know,
Or perhaps, you think you know.

Men are always O.K.,
Even when not.

We expect the worse,
Accept the worse,
Nonetheless,
We are forever unprepared.

Wearily, we cry,
In the bathroom, in private,
Lest sighs slip by,
We be unmasked,
Early warring, strife signs warning.

Copious, tho we weep
Before the mirror confessor,
It is relief untethered,
Unbinding of the feet,
An uncounting
Of beaded rosaries,
Of freshly fallen hail stones,
Of night times terrors
By dawn's early edition's light,
and welcomed.

But look for the mute tear,
The eye-cornered drop,
*** tat, that never drops,
But never ceases formation and
Reforming, over and over again,
In a state of perpetuity of reconstitution,

The tippy tear of an iceberg revealing,
And I see you peeping, wondering,
What is beneath

Look for:
the torn worm-eaten edges of spirit,
thrift shop bought, extra worn,
grieving lines neath the eyes,
where the salt has evaporated,
discolored the skin.
worry lines,
under and above,
browed mapped, furrowed boundaries.
the laugh line saga,
where better days are stored,
recalled, as well as recanted,
publicly, privately.

Why just men?

I don't know,
Perhaps,
it is all I know.


Jan 6, 2013

If birth control pills could give a buzz
"Unwanted" pregnancy would no longer be a
Problem

My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.

What does it mean to be human?
Forged in the hearts of the universe
A billion fragments of creation, woven into one existence
Children of the stars that envious eyes reflect
What does it mean to be human?
I am the universe
I am alone

What does it mean to find beauty?
To witness the Sun's racing photons pierce the atmosphere
with bursting lust for the horizon
The waves finding my eyes, and leaking dopamine in my brain
What does it mean to find beauty?
I am in awe
I am chemistry

What does it mean to write poetry?
To order the shapes and symbols written by dead men
in a way no one has ever seen before
A fool's attempt to have one feel what all have felt before
What does it mean to write poetry?
I am a poet
I am a liar

What does it mean to die?
To find the book continues writing
for you were not the protagonist all along
To learn this, only once you cannot learn at all
What does it mean to die?
I am alive
I am finite

What does it mean to love?
To see the finite chemicals in all the lonely liars
And to hold them close
In awe of the universal poetry that is our lives
All the same, we are all the same
I am love
If we were anything else, there would be no point
No Hope
No Life