Star-crossedYou woke up on
the wrong side of
a cosmic bed
A pillow of
under your head
are all the tears
which you have shed
Your ring finger
in outer space
among a dreamed
Your light shines bright
but not enough
to seize the day
Let your love be
then I'll wish to
waking-cat's morning reflectionyyyyywaking-cat's morning reflection3 years ago in Free Fella More Like This
-ning to wake up
So Beautiful, Our Mother EarthWe follow roadsSo Beautiful, Our Mother Earth3 years ago in Earth Day More Like This
Like deep scars
Rarely looking off
The path we're on
She cries for us
In whispered winds
Calls for us
Yet we ignore
Her subtle beauty
Instead we hide away
Made of concrete, wood, plaster, and steel
And we forget her
Then the day will come
Maybe when we are much older
And we will look out the window
Or drive past a park in spring
We will see the children playing
Out in the grass
In the summer light
Breathing in the summer air
Innocent and joyful
Connected with all the things around them
Just like we were one time
So beautiful, our mother Earth
For us to forget your beauty
Forget your wonderful life
We had to invent all these things
And box ourselves away
To forget about you.
Spirit Day PoemSpirit Day Poem3 years ago in Spirit Day More Like This
We are not comfortable in our own skin
We hide what we really feel within
We know not the difference between right and wrong
We wish we could smile, and our troubles would be gone
We hope we can keep our chins up
We write how we feel like giving up
We love to know that there's another day coming
While Driving in the Suburbs on Valentine's DayI’m sure of nothing, no one;While Driving in the Suburbs on Valentine's Day6 months ago in Valentine Exchange More Like This
we’ll never be ourselves.
Our lone device is left to searching
through bins and vessels
on drives and circles
one by one, houses upon houses
secreting pills and thoughts and air
behind their stealthy doors and bellies.
I stab into each of their ugly little anthems.
What is mine?
What is mine.
Windows caught on Christmas trees
the pale hypnosis of television
bleeding through curtains drawn to a slit.
What dares to go on living in there?
Dawn comes drunk and begging
shrill and shameless, undiscerning
‘till the string breaks high above the plains
‘till it’s engorged on everything
the hairline crack in a potted blue sage
the lip of the gutters haunted by cats.
Houses are holding things close to their lungs
moistened in darkness, a glorious sadness
that no one's allowed. Left out! We're left out
of unholy communions, distensions of time.
I've only the rumors to cradle my demons
and only your face, sw