Monday, July 2, 2018

After All This Time





September 2014


         Do you feel it dripping
                                               wet as my lips 
                          -- fresh from sipping this warm tea.

February 2015


I started dating someone 

that wasn't you.

Nov 2015


The whiskey is wearing off 
And he is striking the gavel
again.

I offer a thought.
But it doesnʼt reach him
And my words
fall into this empty tumbler 
Iʼve set spinning.

Dec 2015


You see,
I spent a lot of time walking
for the next two months.
    ---Missing the smell of oranges.

February 2016


           It is thick like the big red trees. 
                         It whispers
                                      –smoke rings that drift.                        

July 2016


The last thing I can remember really
is thinking that the door by my bed
made the room seem
bigger than it was.

My voice has gotten very small.

What an odd time to feel nothing.


August 2016


Today

Not today
Not today 
Not today


September 2016


I spent a lot of time
with my dog.
Watching movies.
Reading books.
And running around a forest 
near my parents house.


December 2016


My life before July 
feels like all my fault a dream.

I forgot what it was like
---being here.                                      

February 2017


              It is sharp as the Liberty Crown. 
                                    Shifting like the fickle clouds.
                               

May 2017


We were so close.
But I am glad now
that we didn't try to build us
In that field of hurt.


(It still scares me to think that I might have lost you in it.)

June 2017


I remember standing there 
watching the snow begin to fall from his mouth again.


It's funny how tired the cold can make you.

 August 2017


                                Your music
             -- a warm breath.


September 2017


We talked but my tumbleweed words 
rolled by him, 
the space between us an empty town.

It's funny how tired loneliness can make you.


November 2017


There was whiskey 
and there was 
you 
brushing a strand of hair 
from my face.

I remember our knees were touching.

Dec 2017


              It clings like mussels on a ship. 
                              always dripping away 
                                                                 under ground. 


January 2018


I went to The Falconer 
a lot the next month 
or so.

But that ended too.


February 2018


We talked for a long while.
You shared
some of your stories.

(How have you always known how to love me?)



March 13 2018


I was so surprised to see you
I hugged you 
twice.

(And felt the room get colder when you left.)

March 20 2018


And after all this time
                                        a kiss.

April 3 2018 


My life
is crinkle cut fries
Silver music 
and you
In a Golden-Hour frame.

(Thank you)

May 30 2018 


I see your lashes 
and wonder if I will ever 
feel them on my face again.

(You were leaving in a few hours.)

June 17 2018


Finally,
        Butterfly Kisses. 




Music







Tuesday, June 12, 2018

Light Years






 The shadowless true noon is not the only time life is beautiful.
Instead it is far more common
to see in yourself or in another 
 Not a fault in their or your nature
 but simply light shifting as it does.
 Like the slow lifting of a veil or like
the quick clicking and shuttering shadows
on your face while passing quickly under trees.


And even when you can't find the Sun uninterrupted
There is still wonder and kindness and peace and love and freedom
in the dripping of light through the leaves.


And to see in myself light and shadows and their ability to coexist is a hopeful thought.


Thursday, May 31, 2018

Prose and Cons



         


                                       You see, it's never a good time
                        --to ask for their hands to help you catch the slipping things inside you.

           Is that why you read him poetry instead?

                                         It is hard to tell if you have been whittled down
                          -- to what you do for people.

          Is that why your humor is almost always settled in the shade (dressed accordingly of course)?

                                       You see your hands
                          -- a failed utility.

           Is that why you run?

                                       And your heart
                         --Well at least you've tried, by now, to laugh louder than  
the faulty ticking.

        
                                                           






Saturday, February 24, 2018

Grey Matters


TODAY*

Today.
Today I wore a dress. 
Today. 
Today my lover's kiss 
Hangs on me -a shift.
Dripping-sweat from a glass rim.
Landing-sharp leaves from this tree
Overhead.


*(This is a short piece I wrote a bit ago)

Music