PositiveLeft to me, your worst historian,Positive3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to pick up, in a daze, some depth of diction
I never found while you had lived
and I can only now pretend that words are capsules
of sanguinity, that they’ll unmask the symbologies
of sound that bore your binaries to their realms
like sacred dreams of Hypnos.
Regret’s a simple word.
I always thought of "A Separate Peace", and in those scenes
you were this Mozart in the rough, a perfect chord, one
which I would meekly channel through cracks of light
shown through the fist of my own interference,
Why this wisdom, now?
The cosmic clown who wrote this song
does not annotate our endings with an epilogue.
I do not see the irony in celebrating
your new found space.
There is no iconicity,
no special shape
that serves the world
as you did serve,
to bend and writhe the streets
into a wellspring, a circuitr
I took offMy day off.I took off3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I stand in sunlight
I can watch it being day.
The mud is soft and cool at home.
I'd bury well without a casket,
I’ll be a naked pill for earth.
I build a garden box from wood,
smash my thumb.
too late for lettuce.
I had a premonition
I would live like this.
No one will remember me.
I’ll forget by Tuesday.
The Daily Sentence ProjectShe shifts her thighs to the same anglesThe Daily Sentence Project3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
where tectonic plates exchange glances.
The infant in her arms coos in haiku,
the phone crouching on her shoulder
barking in blank verse and bank terms;
where has the affection been displaced?
Perhaps the both of them are three full-
time jobs past romance and two cases
of chickenpox past the seven-year-itch
to be able to tell that dishwater softens
and oatmeal baths becalm their hands.
The kitchen tile is a haphazardous haven
for cloven shoes. She prefers slip-ons.
hyperdontiasometimes it feels as ifhyperdontia3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I have too many milk teeth,
too many parts of me that belong
to a time when I climbed trees to touch the sky
and I swam in sunflowers
and fireflies -
to a time I have long since
painted in sepia tones,
long since pushed
to the back of my mind
with hands so tired
of being filled with splinters
- too many seeds
and not enough light.
there are too many parts of me
that I have placed underneath pillows,
that I have kept behind closed lashes,
that I have slept upon, waiting
for the morning to arrive and them
to be g o n e ,
replaced with coins that I could place
underneath the tongues of the dreams
that I could not ferry to my
but in the morning, they return -
one by one into my mouth,
daring me to speak them,
daring me to sing,
daring me to find someone who will listen.
it feels as if
I have too many stories,
too many secrets,
too many sins and not enough space
for the words to fly out of my mouth
and into the world -
waking upand imagine my surprisewaking up3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
when my insides bloomed
into so many dandelions,
and in a single breath
Lost in the Marketplace of an Alien WorldThey're all ears and nose,Lost in the Marketplace of an Alien World3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
pouring the colours of their feet
I can't count their stars
or syllables until
suddenly my mother's hand
takes me back
into my own solar system
and I'm falling in love with oxygen.
JackIn my 57th year there was JackJack3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
grey curls, leggy and long,
and warm as August
from head to thigh.
"You're the best thing
and the worst thing
that ever happened to me,"
he whispered into the night
giving love in parentheses,
and I fit just under his arm.
"We should have met
when we were young,"
he said, my hands tracing
the broad spring of his chest.
"This is going to be hard."
Air dry as cotton.
Heart, too heavy to fly.
Wildflowers, Imperfect BirdsI breathed your name like wildflowers under vast broken skies, in wide-open spaces. The wind blowing through them spoke of dew and dirt and petrichor, and there was sunlight on the ground like a mosaic patterned by god's own hands.Wildflowers, Imperfect Birds3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I said it like a monarch claiming new land: a declaration, a butterfly breath over old earth; like it was coffee on a warm morning with the sun in my eyes, interlacing with my lashes; like it was a dream; like it was a prayer like it was a miracle wrought of air and bone and body: you, in, out, in, out, in and in and in.
I cried it out like an earthquake between lip and lip, continents that don't quite fit: your name, a fault line that doesn't know how to apologize.
And I whispered it like it had grown nothing where there should've been feathers, no wings to fly it on, like my lips were the nest it would always call home.
So I breathed it,
And I whispered it,
And I said it,
And I sang it,
Like a castle; like a mirror; like it was the big bang and ever
beauty is a state of mindforgiveness is thebeauty is a state of mind2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
scent the violet leaves
on the foot that stomped it;
I am beautiful in remembrance:
I am beautiful
in a body two sizes too
large, in eyes dilated
with questions (eyes
you cannot name; gray
like the ocean, blue
like the heart, green like
the fever dream I cannot
wake from) I am the
hair of a lion, a wild
thing, ignition upon
tempted glance. I am the skin
you cannot name, always fleeting;
you always see
but never truly take in.
and I know a boy
carved of ivory silence,
RestlessI’ve been living in the same breathy dreamRestless3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
for too many days now; I’m bed-ridden and
stale and I reek of those moments that come
full throttle like a car crash on a winter night
this is evolution where weak hearts
are afraid of the shadows and where
an apologetic wind births no remorse;
he will move on—anchored ship
set sail, I am the sunken wreckage
that never learned how to swim.
he will move on, Darwin says
I never had a chance
I wish I were the textbook sadness,
symptom and solution and endurance
but I’ve spent too long sleeping on the
thoughts of shooting stars and gravity
and reasons, scientific calculations with
thrice-checked proofs for the skeptics
that don’t believe in the sleight of hand magic
reality wants to imply
I am not the insomniac writer with
better things to do than sleep; I am
the heavy bones afraid of what
lies in the darkness beneath
the skeletons of childhood monsters
Keepers of My Hearti.Keepers of My Heart3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you are in love with being in love
like you're caught on the train tracks,
tied down by want, waiting for that
insistent collision to
steal you away into the land
of concussions and self-medication
and hearts that barely heal
and stories confessing the notches
in your bedpost, the lines in
your smile. the sour note in your
liberally dissonant melody.
you did not want tangibility
cotton trees cascading and butterfly
innards, serenading clouds and
(until the sky came crashing down
and you reoriented the earth)
you did not want me
I am solid and as notable as
the ghosts sleeping in your ears,
their snores telling time as
the days blur together
I am not of starry kisses and
back porch promises-
I am the wrong kind of accident
on the train tracks.
I am broken,
(but not in the right way)
I am real
these are the things we carry with us:
a knife in the side and a
cramp in the lungs; a longing
in the mouth for words or tastes
or people or something m
Floods They ComeHornet rain and floods they comeFloods They Come3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they overrun the lowlands like a plague
like swirling black death
the first swells rise and snuff your tiny heart
corrode the skin of everything you ever loved
Thyme and cabbage, carrots
pickles sweet and flaccid on a crystal plate
hard-edged rye spread thick
with sweating margarine
Wrinkled biddies pinch you odd and hard
their teeth are cracked and gray as stone
They peer too close, their swimming shallow eyes
they smile like a skull, you saw it on tv
You taste the risk, you smell it on their breath
the camphor-scented cotton, mildew and the wool
stretched tight across their breast
and buttermilk in heavy yellow glass
You struggle for immunity, you stamp your foot
you only thought you did
but it was just a step you shuffled in your lace-up shoes
your braided hair, your favorite dress
MoonlessThe moonless eveningMoonless3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
turns its back against the sky
and leaves it empty.
Perhaps the morning
will come back with its hands full,
holding up the sun.
dead wordsthe poets and novelists are dead.dead words3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dead poem analysis
dead novel deconstruction
on a dead tree sheaf
stained with dead food
and possibly being contemplated
by a dead mind.
who is to remember the words
of the now-unfunctioning,
only for those who have breath?
“you love literature
because of what it is,
not what it does.”
oh for the love of intrinsic value.
the poets and novelists are dead.
but we are alive to connect
to their worthiness of writing.
feelingfunnycatfish in a fish farmfeelingfunny3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
staring at the sky
to dream about the sea
you need to have a plan...so here's toyou need to have a plan...3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to some forgotten shore.
2. fall desperately in love with
i. the ocean
ii. the sky
iii. the honey sunrise and
iv. the steelgray winter dawn.
soul-deep into the water and
4a. search out the requisite words
i. from behind white and blue curtains
ii. and underneath clam shells
iii. and in the wakes of fishing boats, and
4b. pluck them from the ceaseless
scrawls of sunlight
against the slopes of waves.
5. make time for
ii. and other
ways i have been worni. mistsways i have been worn3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like a vapor.
a wisp about a finger
like cosmic debts.
like a drought.
the rush for everpresent
of desperate haste.
like a flood.
a tide without a valid
of a crush immense.
like the first.
a taste of infinity's
by a depth unmet.
like the vast.
the promise of intertwined
beyond history's test.
Fill in the blank.Sometimes people leaveFill in the blank.3 years ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
these why-sized holes in our lives
after they depart.
Happiness and How To Find ItHappiness and How To Find It3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Today happiness has gone down 35 points,
While sadness is up 43 points,
Which is a record high for this year.
Today the president announced a bold new initiative
In order to generate happiness,
He's shipping in 100,000 puppies in from overseas.
Projections indicate that those puppies could
boost happiness by as much as 30%.
President: "America needs happiness. When you
Want happiness, you don't sit around and wait for it."
The national party of Life Fulfillment issued a statement
Today claiming that the president should be
Placing an emphasis on long term happiness,
And that this is only a temporary fix,
As those puppies will only be regular dogs in a year.
Andrew Socolovoyich, house min. leader: "America
Needs long term solutions. The president should
Be encouraging citizens to pick up a hobby. It's not as
Fun as puppies maybe, but people with hobbies
Usually live rich, happy lives."
And in local news: Have you ever wondered what
It would be like to live without happiness at all?
flameslost lovesflames4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
we call them flames because we burned
we were oxygen
we were fuel
and when the fuel was gone
we were ashes floating
rain took us down to earth
mushed remains together
and when the sun returned
the dry remains
piled into something that had never been
alone as something new
lipstick-stained collarsthe one-of-a-kindlipstick-stained collars4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
look you shoot
has been duplicated
far too many
times to count.
your eyes must
be made of glass,
the way they
wander so freely
in your sockets.
to think that those
callouses on your palms
are the result of work,
instead of your infidelity.
scent of your
to expect honesty
from a snake,
from a shrew.
glass boythe “I love you” never left my lips, forglass boy3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I thought it might sound pretentious,
though you wouldn't have heard me,
even if those words had been said.
and even if those words had been said,
your parrot voice would have merely
returned them to me in a gentle, dumb,
answering machine welcome message.
every time we talked,
there was the fear of shattering you.
you were my glass boy, a boy who was
breakable, yet malleable to the heat
of torched pressure.
but still there was me,
foolishly following the glass boy
wherever he might go.
one day my soul slipped in your puddled irises
and when I had come to the ground again,
you'd walked too far a distance for me to follow.
I lamented your loss in my life
until I realized you were never the flesh
I needed you to be.
glass boys will be glass boys.