it's the same ocean that touched our feet
i knew your voice, recognized your heartbeat
it sailed across a hollow husk of a shell
when you were pouring yourself out there

as each wave crash heavily on your thighs
the moon pulls the tides gently
like blanket over your cold shoulders
your salty tears merged with sea breeze

i was there when you weeped
and the thundering clapped
i was there when you grieved
for each death of your old selves

the most beautiful thing to come out of the sea, when she left i found parts of her soul buried inside me

Sometimes
I think about everywhere we've been, and the innumerable unreproducible moments

But then I remember quietly fighting about homeschooling in a Denny's

Sometimes
I feel like I'll never connect in the same way with another person

But then I remember that I am dramatic and each intimate connection is unique

Sometimes
I finally am finishing watching our last show that I just haven't had the breadth to pick back up again

And I remember the exact way in a specific moment of the show that you laughed
And how many times you laughed that same way through the years

And I feel pain,
deep in my heart

But then I remember,
pain never really fully leaves

~
A fire built within

We come together
we break apart

A wind that blows past
and does not return

Carnival of light
moving colors
in the overcurrent

Where is heaven above?

You'll only hear
the hummingbird
skyward bound

Before finally combusting
somewhere in
the upper atmosphere

The resulting cloud
is probably still up there
— more proof that it pays
to shoot for the stars
~

~
taking sides
picking flowers
dead and buried
on the surface line

counting hostages
trading stamps
extended infinitely
at right angles

cozy spaces
married couples
perpendicular
legs and mingled stria
one over the other

It's all conjugated
hyperbola
a tourist trap
with zero interest
for a year
~

See you everyday
haven't seen myself (in quite a spell)

my brain is
an abandoned building, a dry well

I traced your phone call
to some viral spiral

I'm connected to you
in a spider-like way

--webs, phobias and decay

the essence of life is
reproduction and mortality

see you everyday
in shivering downloaded depravity

your starry smiles
your synthetic ciphers

and I'm all alone again

this body is a safe house
this fear, a panic room

but the enemy within
is always right under my skin

The tides of time pulled us in opposite directions.
You left this small town and the trauma that it held-
confined by the mountains on both sides
dismal skies, narrow minds.

I stayed at home and anchored my roots  
deep down in the Virginia clay.

With smell of the feed mill hanging in the air
you came to say goodbye,
My head was on backwards then
I didn't really see you leave.

You were on your way-
Wide open spaces,
A different perspective.

In our poet’s hearts we could communicate-
high vibrations, unexplained.
A friendship thriving without any nourishment.

Now that you have returned to where I am planted,
it's as if two decades haven't elapsed.

I am filled with gratitude
to hear the ringing of your laughter again.

I.
Fireman, censor of literature and destroyer of knowledge, with his mighty flamethrower. He loves his work. He loves trouble and strife. He loves fascination with the people next door. Mostly, he loves his hammock. But sleep will be his final unrest.

II.
A gift for the darkness: reading from the forbidden kept hidden in the air-conditioning duct. The walls within turn on and off like Cora Pearl. His wife listens to far winds and whispers and soap-opera cries, sleep-walking, helped up and down curbs by a husband who might just as well not have been there. They walk on as an extinguished connection. In the flickering of his eyeballs, he dreams of driving recklessly to Dover Beach and drowning her.

III.
Burning bright. He is burning so brightly. In the factory of mirrors, he takes a hard look. He's a flammable book. And it's a pleasure to burn. "What are you doing?" She asks. "Putting one foot in front of another." He answers.

Freewheeling connections on belief
to lead, rule, follow and support.
Decided through a latent separation of sorts,
the choice in course for self determination.
Collective motivation from individual status,
with less regimented offers of conceit.
We transform when our shadows are shown,
as the clarity of transparency can aid growth.

Perhaps inspiration is the problem.
I have always danced with words.
Blending syllables and wit
Bending sentences at will.
Firing ink from a loaded pen.
Makes for good imagery.
As I flap the pages of this notebook.
Dropping tiny daggers with this tongue.
Trying to master the craft of symbolism.
With sarcasm.
Playing with these words like hooked on phonics.
Molding them into a scene.
Of play on words.
With less drama.
Maybe even worth less.
Like pay-less.
As we walk in eachothers shoes.
To better understand the roads we travel.