I WOULD WAKE UP EARLY

i think about it a lot
how i'd start my day
if i didn't have to ride that train to work
i would wake up early
before the sun
and make my way to the edge of the lake
where the short waves break
against the rocks
and i would find the one
that was flat
for sitting
and drink my tea
and take my shoes off
and maybe the water would rise up
before the sun
splashing against my feet every so often
and i would watch her rise
her single, slow, deliberate task
over the waves
waking them to the boats on their backs
and in that moment
as she met me with a warm promise
i would lift my hand
my single, slow, deliberate task
and wave to her
hello

THE PATH

i live and die
in unwavering pursuit
of a dream
not that i may get there
but that i may find
that the path
if trust
in diligence
is taken
will lead me
not where i want to go
but where i'm meant to be

THE MACHINE

the machine
in me
has no switches
on or off
he comes
and goes
and no one knows
his name
not even me
all i know
is that i wish
he'd come
or go
for good

JUST LOOK

i am in continual exaltation of beauty
because i throw myself carelessly
fearlessly
into everything
and do nothing
i've been told
is possible
and because of this
i am what i was
and will always be
just look at what i do

I FIND IT HARD TO SAY

you're right.
i am addicted.
it's my fault.
i'm sorry.
don't go.
i'm in love with you.

AN OPEN LETTER TO YOUR HANDS

your hands
keep crawling back
and reaching out
like i owe them something
just for existing
never forgiveness
just simple acknowledgment
that at the end of the day
they continue to play
their simple role
in my life
and why not?
you see a picture of me
and are reminded of
how much you meant to me
as i held them
warmed them
kissed them -
well, the truth is
i never knew your middle name
or your mom
or the color of your eyes
i wasn't listening to your sadness
and i've forgotten what you smell like
and it's not that i don't think of you fondly -
i just never really think of you at all
the girl you wish you were
is the girl that came before and after
and you should know
that even though i liked you
i never liked your hands

THAT SPOT

your name
is not a name at all
and as it turns out
some things in life
are like that
not things at all
but bruises
in terrible spots
like right below the knee
and once in a while
i hit it
that spot
on a coffee table
or something
and it never seems
to go away
so it turns out
that it's not a bruise at all
because it doesn't have a color
and it doesn't go away
but it's not that big a deal
because mostly
i don't think about it
unless i hit it
then it hurts

I NEEDED TO KNOW

i like to watch
bobbing for apples
from the underside
cause i get to see your face
when you're probably happy
if the water is clear
and the apples are red
then i don't feel
worried
that the camera will be damaged -
there's probably glass
to keep it dry
so the water ripples
and your eyes get small
and i remember that time
when you laughed
at that thing i said
about your sister's boyfriend
and how he's probably gay
well i just heard last week
turns out he is
and it turns out you were
happy that is
so that's good
and it turns out that's all
i needed to know
so that's good
yeah, that's good

POETS AND KINGS

it's the poets and the kings who cling to darkness
it's the liars and the fools who make the rules
it's your best friends and your best lovers who deceive you
and it's your enemies who tend to tell the truth

THE SPILL

it's cold in its wanton
the dead of space
and black as death
despite the arms of god
and now it seems
to spread
an inky pace
this spill
a spot
alone
at the bottom of everything

TWO SPIRITS

aloft, two spirits ride the wintry gale
to tame the dragon, carve the sea a sail
one spirit rides with scabbard jet and blade
the other with a hex upon his stave

in life, their bitter rivalry was born
in death, a twisted irony implored
for both are bidden bound without the first
life then death have locked them in their curse
one so vile a bond that shan't renew
anything to recompense their feud

so entrenched the spirits are to this
their steed, the winter revenant amiss
that thrashing for the bridle in their vice
two spirits ride eternity the price

MY BIKE

my bike has thin tires
and straight handles
i ride it in sandals
made from shoes that
used to have no holes
just two black lines
one front to back
the other side to side
i penned them myself
and they meant something
one thing
that is gone now
but i still remember it
front to back
and side to side
every time i ride my bike

THE EMPERORS

white tea
white snow
white tail deer
pink moon
me and you
grinning ear to ear

THE METRO

electric blue.
glass and steel.
i could fall in love.
with a blonde, even.
but i am falling out,
and down,
and underneath instead.
i am falling
over you
and into something new.
i am falling
fast awake
into electric blue.

DAFFODILS

i wandered through the hills
searching
i found you daffodils
thirteen
i brought you every one
but one
doesn't it feel
doesn't it feel
doesn't it
feel
like
none?

THIS IS LOVE TO ME

blacktop, head-to-head
hand-in-hand in hats
swing sets, dirty sand
and dirtier hands
puffy coats and rosy noses
traveled roads
and broken roses
scent of sex
and sweet green tea
this is love to me

DAVID

there's nothing left in air worth breathing deep
for shallow breath a shallow heartbeat keeps
and in a topsoil life, your roots grow teeth
a clenching fist, your fingers running deep
and strong enough to grip the earth in hand
a single life could loose
like david
hope into the land

HAIKU

i am here with you
and you are here with me too
i am here with you

THE ROBIN

my mother wanted me to be a girl
more so than either of my brothers
as i was the to be the third-born
and the artist
and this is the way it has been for centuries
and it was written in the stars
that i would be her daughter, herself a girl
a beautiful hand-painted wooden cup of a girl
destined to be lifted up myself
only to reveal another
as an infinite chain of little wooden russian dolls
and she would be gifted
and creative
and write poetry
and oh, how beautiful to someday find the words
sparked from a mind she made herself
the words all written on parchment, because she liked the smell
and common flowers kept between the pages
like dried, flattened promises
and she would be my mother all over again
a pattern in repeat
and it is said that your child is always more beautiful than you
as god would have it, a gift
so someday everyone will be perfect
no eyes set low, or far too close
and maybe this girl
whose name was picked out, but never told to me
would be the beginning of it all
the most beautiful girl on earth
and she would wear a sundress
would throw your heart against a trampoline
and she would smile, and promise nothing

but she would have to make it out first
and she never would, and neither will i
because i am not that girl
and i am not that promise
and i am not that answer
and i am not that
bright
red-breasted
son-of-a-bitch
of a
bird

O, ROMERO

o, romero
read between the lines
and found a life worth reading
said "if color red
could pull the bull
and make the blood worth bleeding
i would wear it every day
and every night
till i stop breathing."

SHE IS

she is dancing in the wind, all alone.
she is swinging on a set, slightly slow.
she is a castle or a flagship when in need.
she is the grass beneath my feet, a sweet reprieve.
she is a promise.
she is a secret.
she is a whisper in the dark.
and she's a pyre miles high when i'm a fuse in need of spark.

WHEN MORNING COMES

what are we when morning comes?
changed if sleep evaded us
arms set low with pain move slow
the parable of night to show
how one man comes
another goes
he leaves behind his skin just so -
what are we when morning comes?
changed if sleep evaded us

STILL LIFE NIGHT

a still life night has fingers, calloused tips
brushed against the spine in reminisce
it sets you down and out and all apart
like marionette strings clipped to the start
and fallen, graceless, silent in the wake
a cold forgotten puppet sort of state

and all the fragile pieces of a life
are nothing to the man that lies in sight
of a still life night.

TO LOVE, WITH LOVE

i've settled with you so, and now i write
"dear love, with love I come to you tonight
'twas good to fine'ly dine with you again
it's been too long since i could call you friend

in fact, last time i wrote 'twas no reply
i thought perhaps you'd left me here to dry
up in the sun, my clothes and then my heart
sequentially, a fitting way to start

then start my heart on fire just to see
it burn away the same, sequentially
but no, it seems, my heart you have returned
and you have changed, my love, and i have learned

where first you came and left, a hurricane,
now without the wind, a gentle rain."

THE WILDFLOWER

i want to wander in my acres
nothing touched by man
all the paths meandering
no purpose to be had
i want to seek the wildflower
that grows within the heart
at the center of the wood
where beats a beckon part
i want the thorns to cut me
to leave behind a mark
that i might find my way to you
when back that path i start
i want to smell the wildflower
when finally closing in
knowing it your fragrance
the way my air grows thin
i want to find it beating there
with glistened light embue

i want to pluck it from its place
and bring it back to you

DUSK

dusk filtered in through open door
reminding me of old
her character a kind rapport
the sun too proud to show
but then she settled on my chest
and kissed me off to sleep
that i'd forget to dwell the past
and remember to dream

for there's a heavy in it all
a somber swift reprieve
when weeping fails for sadness' sake
and breathing pains the beat
and dusk doth own some guilt in this
the sorrow in her seam
despite her beauty, in remiss
she wishes me to dream

poetry is a dead man's art.

this blog is actually just a digital archive/trash can for my terrible poetry. don't read it.