Some short poems. Some that never quite became poems. Some that never even became sentences. Some, at least, got names.
Icicle
Shivering
she cried
and I
did not
ask
why.
66.
Spiral mind
circles the thought
of existence
in a still
pool of false
emotions
and you.
Untitled
Sometimes the silence
creeps into our room
and tangles you
and your
fluent soul of
yellow
turning blue.
Must I remind
you?
The Feasting
Dreamers on the table
served to be destroyed.
Who will last the feasting?
In the end to entertain.
Boy
Anything
he said
I could be.
But he
was nothing
to me.
Candle
How long can
this candle burn
before skin
blisters beneath
the waxes of
my melting
dreams?
Tenderly
So tenderly she hides,
but willows can remind us
of beauty’s gentle sorrows
and so easily she falls.
If everything
has slipped to blue
and sun no longer
lights the way,
gently close the lids
of your eyes and watch
the sunrise inside.
Promise me
a memory,
and I will give you anything.
My Dear, I tell
the truth this time;
I lie, I lie, and
ever will I lie.
There is nothing to hide
if you open your eyes.
This is the unity
of our lies.
Florence caught the butterfly,
ripped it from the falling sky.
Tried to cut it out in two,
one for me and one for you.
Ten dollars for a wing
that in twos can sing.
But we each have only one.
Enjoy
Walk it
Plank dreams
Dive mind
Feet fall
Sea life
Hands tied
Treading pain
Fly by wave
Life drowns
Enjoy.
Heaven Still Believes In Hope
Heaven’s in the backyard
dancing in moon beams
barefooted on the frozen dirt
she’s laughing out insane
picking spiders from their eggs
with her elbows to the sky
nudging God to wake her day.
Moment
Continuation
of the game postponed
by visions of the day
light in black hearted
rumors of the
resurrection
and for a moment
you were forgive.
She walks in silent webs,
circles gestures, tangerines,
skips pebbles over feathers.
Where’s the blue slip dress
you wore when you were
still innocent?
Bathe yourself in lime.
I don’t have the time to
pour the salt the way you do.
And don’t ask me for anything
you wouldn’t just steal anyway.
The words that she needed
were tangled in her head.
“I’m not allowed to say them,”
she said.
Take a ride. I’ll drive.
You just look outside
the open window of life.
--Arizona’s a sight.
Your sweet death is mine,
tied your puppet strings together
like shoe laces in the second grade.
This river leads into a stream.
If we survive the rapids,
we still won’t reach the sea.
I’m full of them, ticks
looking for warm blood to suck.
They don’t bother with you.
I wrote it all down
a few poems, several pages,
tore them from my book,
handed them to you.
You looked them over,
looked around, folded them up,
stuck them in your pocket.
You knew one day you’d need them.
The words scratch at her tongue
bitter and sweet, too much to take,
and there’s nothing she can say.
Your Calypso’s in my pocket.
Just another crumb of someone
I’ll never become.
First Job
Flesh in the fry grease
your whole hand
wrist and all
fifth-teen.
Suburban
cracked eggs frying on the
townhouse roof
we were waiting for pigeons
to deliver our dreams
I want you in your perfect blue
press you to the sky
unfold you
First Kiss
A cupcake wrapper and icing sips,
innocence inside my very first kiss.
I was five and he was six. The
ugliest two kids, beautiful lips.
Swan
Her neck is too thin,
she’ll lose her head,
she will.
So I’m waiting, four years later
for your ghost to go away,
too lazy to even course your name.
When I wanted us to be forever,
I never meant it to be this way.
We killed ourselves
everyday
and it was all we knew of love.
I wanted to scream,
wanted to be the thunder
shaking the ground you’re sleeping
in now. I just whispered your name
hoping somehow I could get through to you,
thinking that maybe you’d hear me now.
You need another dollar.
I need the TV on to sleep.
We’re lifting off the cover
on an empty can of bait
trying to create a trinity
of left and right and
in-between, you and me
and all the things we
pretend we don’t see.
Here’s a penny.
Make a wish.
It never hit the water.
Perfect is a thunderstorm
over someone else’s town.
Far away, yet close enough
to smell the rain.
Her hands are always open,
they cannot hold.
For a boy forever falling,
you should know, there’s
better places to go.
I’m not ready for the red
velvet dress; not ready
to make the arrangements.
I think there’s still time left
for me to catch my breath.
Summer will fall on you
so heavy and hot you can
hardly breathe. Oh, but in
the winter you can only dream.
Simply, you could not give
the morning more than your
open eyes.
Clutter
My lack of organization
has crocheted a blanket
around me.
January, something or other,
not minding the exact day,
I am still warm.
He gives the night the time it needs,
lets the shadows linger like a whisper.
He does not ask the darkness what it is doing here.
For the fourth time today
she has walked out and
stood in the rain.
In a thin dress,
hair soaking wet,
she is Eve
and the garden
is full of weeds.
Self revelation is a science
and I am a student
failing the introductory course at
some unaccredited community college.
The light falls thick here.
The particles separated and
suspended with unanswered
prayers filling the void.
It is the night defused
into the day.
In the space in-between
our bodies wanting to touch
where our breath falls like
silence slipping into the
canyon between me and you.
The Best Plan
Come close enough to touch.
Embrace your failure.
I too, am nothing more than
a frightened weak creature.
Be afraid with me.
Come close enough to touch.
The palm of your hand is a powerful
thing when placed in mine.
Come close enough to touch.
This is how we will survive.
Touch. Live. Touch.