Two linked sugars make up a disaccharide. And that's
what we are. Simple, plain
table sugar, dully passed back
and forth to sweeten our taste.
Sometimes I'll accidentally switch
the shakers for breakfast, hand

you the salt, and you hand
me a spice so harsh that
my tongue curls at the unexpected switch.
I do not prefer the boring, plain
predictable exchange of taste
I followed for so many years back.

So I turn my back
to you, hold up my hand
as a shield of what you would say next. "Have you lost your taste,"
you say, anger overshadowing your faded love, "that
I've grown plain
to you?" I knew then to make the switch

into freedom from the same scene replayed. I get up and turn the light switch
off and leave you in the dark. "When you get back
from work," I say to the plain
dining room, "you will find this ring off my hand."
I can barely see your eyes glowing in the only source of morning light. "That's
absurd," you exclaim. "All because of how I want my cereal to taste?"

I shake my head. "It's not the physical taste. It's the taste
of you that makes me want to switch
out of this marriage. You aren't giving me what I want, and that
is my reason to back
out of this. You offered your hand
to hold mine, to support me, but it's all so plain."

I continue, "And isn't it plain
to see that my taste
in relationships lack passion? I give out my hand
to anything that flicks the switch
of love. You give me the nudge to turn it back
off." With that

I exit the house and try to restore my taste the way I had it back
to my actual preferences. I switch from the plain
safety and run with the risk that I never had at hand.

One day, maybe in two years, I’ll eventually
finally experience the rush
I’ve dreamt of the future
that I so terribly ached
for, that I would undoubtedly  risk
the factors of throwing away used

items that I no longer cherished, used
people only needed to be a stand-in, and eventually
the risk
will not catch up to me, since the rush
of real happiness overshadows the ache
like a penumbra clearing away in the future.

But it’s terrifying knowing that the future
will become a washed up, used
daydream to quiet the ache
I thought would never eventually
stop the overflowing rush
knowing that my biggest dream is entirely a risk.

I am willing to take the risk
so that my deserved  future
will swell over the echoed rush
coffee beans stained  used
cups will eventually
wash away ache.

Dawn breaks like an egg on the highway,
Light spilling through the trees to rest on the blue
bruised half-moons beneath her eyes. She keeps
her foot against the pedal, one hand in the fold
of her jacket pocket. Her cell phone buzzes, her gut
twists, and his voice echoes: “a house, a yard, maybe a dog”

The phone cracks against the side door, falling by dog-
-eared roadmaps. Drowning the call with the roar of the highway,
she wants for inner concrete: decisively gutting
the crust of the earth in a permanent band. But as the sky swallows more blue,
sun exposes the worry-soaked fold
lines where her fingers met her knuckles, empty of the ring he kept

hidden for three months in a bran cereal box. He knew she kept
to a breakfast of day-old Chinese food instead, doggedly
digging in matte white boxes. His laughter lines peeked over the centerfold
of the Sunday newspaper, as she surfaced from digital superhighways
with the next crossword line: scrawled in bleeding ink by her blue
tinged fingers. She supposed that morning he finally found the guts.

His words fell smooth, easy on the first swallow but her gut
anguished at their weight, her insides better kept
to the easy promises, the favor-making, secret-keeping, dog-
walking kind she could shrug to. The something old, new, borrowed, blue
demanded will, boxed and taped and wrapped in the folds
of white tissue paper. She hit the highway

6 hours ago, the ring in her jacket pocket, jumping with NY State Highway
55 as it bent toward a familiar exit. Memories: her mother gutting
duck with chicken bone scissors. The clean press of folded
bed linens, aired out in the oak-thick yards of Poughkeep-
-sie. Her car idled outside the colonial, the shutters still blue.
A black lab lay sleeping on the steps: “a house, a yard, maybe a dog”

Her phone shuddered on the floor and the dog
barked. She set her bald tires rolling again to the highway,
her thoughts still of the egg-yolk kitchen against her father’s dirt-caked boots, his blue
collar sensibilities, and the contented swell of his gut.
He was of similar flex and shrug as she, but never went a day without keeping
a family photo tucked into his front pocket fold.

Her folded fingers unfurled in her own pocket, slow, like growing Kentucky bluegrass.
Playing with the ring, she felt in her gut a warm peace—a house, a yard, a dog—
She worked the band round the knuckle-crease as tires spun, down the highway and out Poughkeepsie.

Adrift in dark and foreign tides of time
I sought to live among the winsome stars.
Between the shadows of the elder moon—
In mountains lost from any source of light—
I wandered lost below the purple sky
Unmoved by that well-expected night.

Oh fate that leads to live the dawn of night!
Oh life, that filthy pool to squander time—
But what a joy to see the starlit sky!
The sun consuming dust from foreign stars,
To see the ocean's mirror cast out light—
Project an image of our lovely moon.

Indeed I feel I hide behind the moon,
In shadows cast by dreadful ghosts of night:
And curse my eyes if I walk into light.
Forgotten shores of childhood lost in time,
Embracing seas of solitude in stars—
A well-known fate in death of burning sky.

Will death thus raise me to the highest sky
Or drive me to the loudest raging moon?
I’d rather find diversion in the stars,
Forsake my wisdom of that sacred night
Than face the painful claws of passing time—
I find demise when I stare into light.

I was revealed the mysteries of light,
Yet hide below the comfort of the sky
As I transcended boundaries of time,
Forever hidden in the woeful moon
And blind upon that everlasting night,
Hunting pleasure in the short-lived stars.

Illusionary joy, deceitful stars:
You guided me to death away from light!
And whence was born this novelty called night?
I thought that safety reigned below the sky,
That I could hide from truth behind the moon—
I curse the painful wings of passing time.

When sunless time arrived upon the sky,
And Moon became a frozen lake of light,
Woe to me, whose night devoured the stars.

Pen ink gliding across paper
Yellowed by the sun for ages
From my fingertips bubble words
I do not yet understand
But they come from the innermost depths
Of my soul, never to be voiced

My words never wished to be voiced
Created to live on the paper
Found only in the hidden depths
Of my notebooks on shelves for ages
No one could understand
All my thoughts strung into words

My head is so full of words
That know not how to be adequately voiced
Themselves they do not understand
As flimsy and fragile as paper
Building up for what seems like ages
Into the sea of confusion they sink to the depths

How deep are my soul's depths
It's distance cannot be put into words
The extent of my thoughts goes on for ages
For ages they'll decline to be voiced
And one day I'll crumple them up like paper
Until they're too wrinkled to understand

I do not want others to understand
My thoughts, that I hide in the depths
Of my pen kept away from paper
I refuse to make words
That fear being voiced
To people of all genders and ages

I wish not to be remembered for ages
Most will not understand
My opinions seek not to be voiced
Before my soul implodes into its own depths
Devoid of all thoughts, feelings, & words
As blank as a white sheet of paper

For ages I'll stay in the depths
Of what I don't understand, the words
never voiced, smeared in ink on yellow paper.

The poet's plight, to write
an ode, replete with sweet
nothings, that might delight
a lover's feet to meet
at night; the promised sight,
so neat and so complete!

A playful beat, complete
with airs so bright, I write
for her; how right! The sight
of her a treat, so sweet
and so much heat! We meet,
dancing tight, such delight!

A kite may know delight
above the street, complete
with string and sheet that meet
the wind; tonight I'd write
a suite of kites! My sweet,
quite lovely is thy sight!

Oh wistful wight, to sight
thy sprite, is sheer delight!
I cannot eat, my sweet,
tongue tied to bleat! Complete
outright the song I write,
the feat of how we meet!

We turn to greet, and meet
in flight, the wondrous sight
of doves! "Alight!" I write,
and they ignite! Delight
fades with their tweet; complete
shock! UNDO! DELETE! Sweet!

How fleet our tale my sweet!
Our low-flung ***** must meet
defeat, our tune complete!
I'll recite oft' thy sight,
and cite oft' thy delight,
in ev'ry height i write!

There once was an old maid who lived by the sea.
She summoned words from the waves, like Poseidon, the king.
With each splash on the shore, a tale would be spoken.
It was said when she spoke, dreams turned to pictures in the air,
and danced all about, likes leaves on a mid-autumn day.
Men came from far and wide to hear stories from this maid.

One day when her patrons gather around, she told of a maid
from a far distant town. Fair and young, she was a wife to the sea.
She swore a vow, to stay as pure as her love, for all of her days.
She captained her ship better than any man, even the kings
of the oceans who loved the sea long before she ever touched air!
When the Lords saw her past no words need to be spoken.

For the most noble of words were not as powerful, as the ones left unspoken.
Across the lands men spoke of her beauty in their traveling tales.
Though she gave them no notice, for she only cared for ocean air.
The world grew to know our fair maiden as the Lady of the Sea.
To our stories woe, there was a man who wish to be her king.
When the Lady of the sea, made harbor on one summer day.

The man and his host waited in the shadow, to make war that day.
Our lady, sorely outnumbered, made battle more fierce than ever before spoken.
As the sun begun to set, she yielded for her men and named that man her King.
On that blood bathed beach a wedding took place, to darken our tale.
And so with the rise of the moon came the rite of wedding night. Though the sea
never forgets any vows that was spoken in its air.

The lady woke from her slumber and went to breathe the salty sea air.
Yet she smelled nothing but the munade smell of day.
In panic, she ran with haste toward her true lover, the sea.
As she went to step into her water, her foot felt like fire! It was spoken
that the her cries could be heard around the sea, if we trust the tales.
The man who wanted her to call him King,

ran away from the lady and left her to her true King.
All around her, the pain she felt radiated into the air.
Her sea had forsaken her. Now all she had left was her tales.
Banished from the sea, to the end of her days!
Her only thing left, was the words spoken
from the sea.

Now our lady, tells tales by the sea, of days
when she left the words unspoken
when she was the Lady of the sea.

Some converted industrial uptown space
$20 brunch at a table for one
Nice and filling it seems, no room in my gut
Nor wondering why I walk gasping for breath
Pouring water, wishing it were alcohol
Too dumb when the check comes to add a figure

Some deep lasting sustenance from that, I figure
Stumbling home down block past shop and vacant space
Nothing sanitizes quite like alcohol
Great to see strangers holding hands one in one
Except I'd claw them and beat out their breath
Wrenched and stuffed I'd kick them in their stupid gut

That's not very nice, I know it in my gut
But somehow don't care much more to figure
Which story to tell or the smell of my breath
When tables for two require just as much space
And a spot at the counter suffices for one
Despite the sadness and lack of alcohol

I think lager, Malbec, other alcohol
And there is some deep craving still in my gut
For drunkenness or eternal truth, which one?
What luck, I'm rescued by a dashing figure
Some vibrations in my pocket fill the space
Imagination comes up to catch its breath

But that's about it, no handsome man with fresh breath
Just me standing in line to buy alcohol
Squeezing past the register makes for tight space
But maybe it's all the sausage in my gut
There's no lasting sense in minding my figure
So long now resigned to the comforts of one

The alternative is an uncertain one
And to explain I feel I'm wasting my breath
But there's no harm in ogling a nice figure
And there's no harm in a little alcohol
Oh, poor decisions, I feel them in my gut
Forgetting prescient matters of Time & Space

Perhaps there is one, sipping on alcohol
Inhaling deep breath, with a fire in his gut
Awaiting a figure to write lines in space.

The Joys and Pains of Unrequited Love

Of all my years of life I’ve had one dream,
that one like you, with visage radiant,
would grace me with your captivating smile.
Your presence carries with it such a joy,
your voice, elixir for my weary soul.
I wish to drown in this unbridled love.

Oh how I wish you would return my love!
I wish to wake up from this lucid dream,
which both elates and haunts my longing soul.
I wake each morn with sadness radiant,
because I long to share with you the joy
I feel whene’er I’m graced by your sweet smile.

Oh how your simple presence makes me smile!
As I wait for reciprocated love,
I strive to be content and take my joy
in living for this fantasy, this dream.
For when I see your light so radiant,
it kindles life to flames within my soul.

Oh how my face betrays my troubled soul!
You see the pleasant contour of my smile,
and ne’er it fails to shine so radiant,
as I am plagued by unrequited love.
One day I’ll make reality from dream,
And soar with you in long deserved joy.

Oh how I long to share with you my joy!
Just like an anchor weighing on my soul,
it serves to power this unending dream.
I wish to show the pain behind my smile,
from holding in this life-affirming love
while gazing at your form, so radiant.

Oh hear my words fair goddess, radiant!
One day, I will turn sadness into joy,
as I confess to you my boundless love
and intertwine with yours, my bursting soul.
Until that day, contented with your smile,
I will but wait for you within my dream.

How radiant, your bright and piercing soul.
Such joy that I will take within your smile.
My love, until we meet again… in dream.