I wish I could write something
That pierced the wool
Pulled over your eyes.
Your depression, your nihilism;
The things keeping you coupled
To the miserable lense of your life.
Cause there are so many things,
That are just perspective.
And everything else,
We could work through together.
I fear you can't imagine, what
It would be like, to improve.
Walk the world afresh, renewed.
Just so long as you're comfortable,
It doesn't matter if you're happy.
We could be something wonderful,
But you can't see.
That's the real tragedy

splayed limbs and warm sun and sneakers laid to the side and sun on my body and the sound of the water more than anything else

A midday shower to get the stickies off, maybe its all worth it

If I get to spend even a second in the wind, drinking in its cool caress, how could I remember to yearn for the warm sticky touch of another?

If I get to hear the rushing of the water so close to my ears, what phantom chatter of ghosts could permeate?

If I get to feel the sun kiss my skin the way it does, what significance could the absence of you hold?

When I have so much, how could my heart remember to need you?
When I have so much, how could my heart not want to share it with you?

You who I know would love it. You who I wish loved me half as much.

When I have so much, why does missing you take up any room for gratitude in this cluttered mind? I started off alright this time.

This is not a rhyming poem.

****** poetry, maybe 5 is my lucky number. But 5 is a lie I tell to and for myself. I seem to have been briefer to you than that.

The difference is that I say 5, and you do not say.

there is perspective
i see thats pleasing to me
ha ha ha ha ha

the brightest star
of that well-known
oft mistaken
constellation
disfigured and disguised
by the shifting
of Rorschach’s clouds
the temporary flair
of an unremarkable
astral body
burning through
the upper atmosphere
forgotten immediately
as it fades
along with
any accompanying wish
the strobing beacon
of wingtip
or undercarriage
marking the distance
needed for safety
moving through turbulence
restlessness and discomfort
watched with
ill-considered envy
in this overcast
night sky
those twinkling lights
will often go
unnoticed or
simply ignored

She lived in a haze
Of happy days
Till somehow she lost the sun

Lost in dark mist
Finally she tripped
Little pieces of her fell, one by one

Couldn't explain from the inside
To everyone else on the outside
That something was truly wrong

So she filled the holes
With the stories she told
And ended better than as she had begun

a flat white cools
far too quickly
for prolonged enjoyment
steaming the window
above the table
where it rests
next to it
my latest trial
of literature
at times
lengthy of word
ponderous
but probing
while others
lesser
   in page number
though not
   in meaning
brief yet pointed
but always
formidable enough
in name
   or title
to impress
a wandering eye