You are my treasure chest ( Read more... )

Epithet to my emphatic gesture
guessing where our limbs would go
You found God's good graces and golden shores
I was left swallowing sand
When right turns turned to right hooks
and you broke the kitchen window

Dusty hands held
outright and tired
down returning bath of light
The story's apart the dream
and wildbrush fire to hush the night's demand

I
am
ancient gods yawning
the spirals of unending time
eyes aglow with led epiphany
a loop
we were ghosts
that kept finding our way home
it was all the same dream

I dreamt I went on a trip into the deep woods with my father. Someplace green. Someplace warm. Probably south. Maybe Virginia, Missippi, Alabama. Dirt paths every direction. You had to go long, tight roads to get anywhere, and miles past miles to arrive in even tiny, half-broken, should-have-been-torn-down gas stations. I don't know how long we ( Read more... )

Maybe you're too busy. Or maybe you're wiser than I and know exactly how easily we could mess things up if you said or did too much. I like to think that. Like to hope that. Instead of thinking maybe those things are just me too. That maybe you don't even notice that much. Or that you're too happy to conceive of even taking too many chances. Or ( Read more... )

Lost in a beautiful and broken ocean. Colorsshapespeople all one thing. There is no being. Just all these unfolding shapes. Little experience bubbles, carving "nature versus nurture" paths in little red X's across the bark on the brief interactions of self with space and time. Dimension taking one brief stroll past time. Dimension typing out one ( Read more... )

Don't love someone to save yourself.
Love someone to destroy who you used to be.

I have to bite my tongue till blood whenever you're around.
Less out of fear that you'll run like a startled doe,
you were never easily startled

I just don't want to see that look in your eyes
when you tell me it's a better idea to change the subject
or that maybe you should go
that you don't have anything to say
in response

I don't know why we can't ever speak. Admittedly it's enough. It's a relief to just know I'm not the only one. It's not just me that's sad and broken and missing and wishing. That's enough. I don't know if we do this because we're poet's and it's just the easiest way we can speak truth. Because real life interaction means posturing, playing it cool ( Read more... )

Or maybe she did and I missed it. She's always been so cryptic. A hundred thousand times more complex than those notes that she folds. It's not just like playing with fire, it's like trying to stick my face in it and smile. It's like trying to breathe underwater. We were always water and oil, we could not bear ourselves to mix but we looked so ( Read more... )