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Friday, April 11, 2014

Lost and Found

Brace yourselves.
You. You in this space, in this time.
You, mountain among hills, stand tall.
Accept the sun and grow yourself, stretch high and reach your hands
This grass was meant for toes, it craves your weight
We were meant to hold down this earth.
Breathe in the breath that breaks you
Challenge the chains strapped on your back
Let your scars lift you up
Be a masterpiece unfinished;
lyrics to a song everyone’s singing but no one knows the real words to
a song, somewhere, somehow, about purpose.

Stop. I’ll ask, first:
What gifts do we have to offer without sincerity?
What hope can we ever have if all we recognize is prosperity
In numbers?
Stretched across the land are wonders so great your heart may not take it and all that’s on your plate is how to snag a dollar sign
Let me tell you: green bills will get you thrills but they make holes in your soul like a sieve on a kitchen counter.
Empty messages take precedence over connections 4 inches away from you and I wonder
What then, can make you full?
Is it your cars? Your fancy clothes,
fulfillment from a biweekly watermarked paper?
Are you blanketing shiny riches in resent?
Or do you sit, on your bed, hand over your beautiful, beating heart and ask:
“Is it realistic to ever feel content?”

Take my hand, give me purchase in skin
shake off your fear, I'll do it too
Help me let go of vanity, crisis of overloaded “selfies”
Dump my measly chump change in the river, we’ll change the view.
Feed me those deep night stars, pay me in moonlight and smiles in sunlight

Take my hand, we both can search for truth. 

Monday, November 4, 2013


feel the depressions in sheets and look at yourself
mirrored in silent charity by friends who knew you when
wings broken and tiny shards of bone and wisps of feathers scatter on the floor.
the smoke makes you so listless like embers in a fire
and you walk some path that winds and winds on grass thats mediocre green
Pick up disbanded elements: theres too much
and no one can sort the pieces save but you
hey, maybe you were blind before in some blissful dream
crisp lines and soft truths rescue you
jaded now, fuzzy shapes careen around your window
sharp knives behind doors wait in slience with shiny mouths

posted in participation with Three Word Wednesday

Thursday, July 25, 2013


confessions i don't know how to speak
wash over me in waves,
tips touching in nature i'm here with you, like
a thousand thoughts come forth
the most persistent army.

I fear for the darkness
taunting, smooth sister
I know she finds purchase in blood.

sweet desperation I see you here
if this becomes the last of me I hope I've been a witness to both sorrow and joy.
I am a prophet
I am a prophet
I am a prophet
I am a prophet
teling you to fight;believe your eyes and know this selfless news. i am string I am held up by fields of wind on all sides to remind me I am temporary. I am not made for us. I am not made for these seconds in time. I speak the tongues, many follow.

do you know what we are if we try?
creatures crawl on me up sand and grass
and take pieces of flesh
but I have a committment to memory.
you do
I do
with moist eyes and cheeks let's view the world cleanly.

we are being a s s a u l t e d by the things we put in our hands
I have a purpose.

Monday, June 17, 2013

the closest to wild I've felt in a while is wearing that shirt you have with holes in it that you left at my house on tuesday. the arms hang down like the spare set I used to have once before. while I wait for you I sit backed up in corners in your clothes. Cotton-Poly blend comforts me and I want to leave but what if I pass you in the street? worse yet, what if I pass you in the street and you're unfamiliar? My poor fingers cramp up on weekends and I want to leave grooves in you for water to pool up in when it rains in june. there are so many places I need to walk to before I fly, I need to know how it feels or I won't  know how to appreciate it. See me on page 6 and wonder where I've gone. I have shrunken tufts of hair on sticks sitting in rows.

Thursday, May 30, 2013


This morning, I let the sunlight wash away remnants of you
elements of you clung to my skin, my fingernails bloated with scrapings of you
I want to be drowned in a sea of reason and be rescued free, salt water, grain grass
I want to be clean.

Two days I soaked in you
felt the weight of you on my chest, in my hair, behind my eyelids
I saw you: on the countertops and the wrinkles in blankets
empty cups on tables, a marked void.

For once, I saw a completed you like leaves in wet sand.
I have you whole in absence. I have you lined in shadow.
And you said, tight lipped, "This is Nothing, Nothing".
I see your voice waft high, salty smoke.

I think it's written for me to remain at the edges of you,
shaped to sit at the corners of you
to ride at the creases of you.
I am molten, molded to follow your light

Wednesday, May 22, 2013


Tonight, at someparty somewhere with somepeople, we rested
in eachother's gaze and sifted. Parts of me were at the surface that I had never seen
and I hoped that I saw those in you, but you can never be sure.
But tonight the wind tells me to imagine things I never have.

I foolishly asked people on the perimeter what they saw, Expecting a looking glass
into things I hadn't seen, thinks I hadn't thought. Where were you when I was broken
into shards at your feet--are you lost? You and me: an endless shoreline.
Tonights hopes have many folds, and I look for them in the curves of you.

Somehow everything I write
Turns into an ode to you. Pathetic things I wish you'd read and see me on the pages.
and it's silly because they're silly and we're silly
And tonight becomea a series of sighs from twisted lances.

I have some Facts: When you leave a room, I want to follow. Desperately, fervently.
I count seconds on branches and streetlights to the appropriate time
without you feeling crowded. And this too, is sick. We know.
Tonight taunts me. I am cold amongst a flame, drained of what you needed.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Translate me: look for her here.

I ran from you. Undrunk to songs unsung
twisted. A crown upon two heads
hid from things too familiar to be comfortable
too chafing, raw skin on shades of grey.

And I hear her voice among the pines
clear tinny fragments, sirens wail
plastered on steps and rusty nail beds, you
teeter here, pleased to show, skin to skin.

I watch you how I want to be watched
open and disbelieving and hopeful and haunted
eyes follow your gaze, down a throat, up a thigh
lined with smart truth, lusty innocence,.