Some days on back I sat on a pub’s oak stool
and drew in the musty smell of its past,
its scent of old leather and spilled beer that pooled
under the floorboards in a sticky mass.

An old man came in and pulled up a chair
and he scratched at his stubbly beard.
His grey eyes had fixed me in a granite stare
and rumbled ‘til his raspy throat cleared.

He said, “The word ‘nostalgia’ comes from Greek stems.
It means the pain of homecoming.
We look to the past through a cataract lens
at a ‘home’ that’s made out of nothing.”

I asked, “You can’t go back to your home again?”
He shook his head, a woolen wisp of a sigh.
“That home exists in the land of pretend,”
he softly exhaled in laconic reply.

And then he stood and slipped away home
while the strains of “Jerusalem” played.
I sat in my cloud of memories alone,
from fog emerged in the present to stay.

A sledgehammer kills,

or it may loosen a thought,


something from the past.

should we ever meet again
I hope it happens when it rains
like a scene from a romantic movie
our hearts might turn empty

I hope you'll be doing better than me;
once I hoped the exact opposite
I wanted you to be down in the dumps
like a person laden with parasites

but seems I've matured now
I let go of all feelings sour
though I write poetry thinking of you
yes, of course I still do

perhaps we'll laugh when our eyes meet
it could be at a mutual friend's wedding
I'll probably walk you all the way to the street
we'll say our goodbyes, our lips smiling

you know I wouldn't go back to the wedding
instead I'd be getting drunk at a bar nearby
my mind filled with the sweetest memories of you'
it'll be my death all over again
should we ever meet again...

in a very large labyrinth
a lone walker wanders
once was a figure danced, bathed in light
now an echo fading into night

each step forward, under the moon
carries a whisper of a tune
a melody once sweets, bitter now it seems
for love shared by one, alive was at least in dreams

the hearts solace, memories fray
yet there’s relief in the unravelling
from the grasp of a love that never did spread.

In this gentle release, both sorrow and grace,
For a heart that loved alone, finds its own space.
No longer tethered by what could have been,
Embracing the stillness, of love unseen.

I ask for no love to linger, nor fade into blue,
But for memories to visit, as old friends often do.

unburdened now, but i miss the weight’s hold.
that gentle hold.

You know
I’m still afraid of crowded places—  
My steps,  
Echoes,  
On the staircase,  
Past all those faces,  
But I couldn’t find yours.  

Bunny rabbits,  
I name after you,  
Visit in the summer.  

I should've found you,  

I dreamt of you again,
Sitting by the window,  
Reading newspapers, drinking coffee.  
My red dress, my broken heart,  
The end of a moment—  
Sunny skies, as bright as your eyes.  
I miss your laughter on the phone.  

You know,
I’m still scared of needles,  
But I loved your tattoos and piercings—  

It's a heavy heart,  
Hard to carry,  
Hard to bear these days.  

You baked bread inside of war,  
And somehow, it always tasted like home.  

Your drawings, my office—
Sunflowers and sunshine,  
As if secrets were shared with honeybees,  
Revealing:
How to grow in the dark,  
How to find better days.  

The card you made,  
Ripped to pieces, taped back together—  
All that’s left are shades of gray.  

When the wind rises,  
Do dandelions carry the soul?  

In February—  
When I sit and whisper affections  
To graves,  
I watch them grow.  

Someday,  
When the wind rises,  
Will dandelions carry my soul to you?

The dirt still knows you and me as it squirms under our toes, and the old bells up the steeple of the forgotten chapels resting behind the hills sing tarnished songs of friends we loved and lost.

Ancient rivers, our hide away, under our confidante, the shifting sky, our secrets lingering there still with faithful boulders that cushioned us.  

We were arms that cradled each other while we set to walk on a wire stretching from our innocence to our dreams against the gusting wind and blowing doubt.

At times we made it and saw storms retreat and run for cover, and other times we smile bruised and wounded grateful for the lessons we have learned.

Down by the river, where the world is hushed, and shadows draw sharp breaths and bite down ******* us with their gaze, you'll find me nailed to time awaiting your return before the dusk descends, I pray.

Make haste, find your way back to the place we’ve seen eternity, and where tomorrow talks to us. Our refuge where promises hang their eyes on us and spread their arms wide. There, we are orphans with no yesterdays. There where our hearts cut through tears. With our hands out we could
dream without end.

If you don’t find us there, friends lost in me, if yours knees still could, feel the wind, it’s still dappled with memories.

The day before it
happens ,
everything feels the
same ,
everything looks the
same .
☆
No other-worldly signs
will save memory
of those splintered realities .
☆
The surface of
a mountain lake ,
now cold and
emotionless ,
☆
Like a mind
untramelled by thought ,
not the slightest breath of wind
☆
To move one tiny drop
transfixed on the surface
of that mirror for the sky .
☆
But in backrooms of reality ,
misplaced moments
swell like maggots .
☆
They feed on forgotten
dreams and dance on
tables like a dervish .
☆
Now a second , then
a minute , finally
an hour disappeared by stealth .
☆
When the King of
Chances ,
entering the great hall ,
with eighty cupids , all fall silent ,
☆
As thunderous , the
chime of Destiny
brings all time screaming
            to meet
☆
             Your present moment
☆
                                  Now .