Thursday, September 30, 2010


they are in the air
little dandelion puffs, a tear
clinging to eyelash clusters
pregnant gray snowflake sky,
silent fragments with sharp edges
waiting to trip you
wet silence before morning sun
they just, are

Tuesday, September 28, 2010


What an awful, awful thing we've done;
mirror eyed, we reflect discontent in stagnant equilibrium,
your curtains pulled half down, your mouth slows.
A hesitant mourning dove, swooping low in a near motionless dance
with my own rhythmic upside down crescent moon, hungry baby birds.
"Everything is going to be okay," on repeat as we hold each other,
we won't look at each other because mirror eyes will never meet.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

attention definite

Word overdose, comatose, unsympathetically morose;
I find myself again and again a blank audience to the remains
of an
I am running around in circles getting dizzy like I am 10,
it's a jumble,
jumble of a jumbled jungle gym of thoughts,
zooming like a tiny swarm or letters,
buzzing like do you want to do something else?
thoughts, thoughts are wearing a pair of jeans into the pool,
you just can't shake the heaviness.

Thursday, September 23, 2010


In the yawn of the afternoon we must drift,
floating more like swaying from left to right
in what looks like a beautiful pirouette, but lies.
It is a plummet straight to the ground,
the pretense of a longing, I miss you kind of goodbye
when really we both won't admit to the necessity.
We both know that our proximity can sometimes burn,
and sometimes when it burns it leaves silence behind.
So we are getting better at it, this game of pretend
that we don't remember agreeing to but now
we're two tiny spiders silently weaving web after web
but never, ever talking about them as we sit amidst
their barriers, their sticky, sticky strands of distance.

Monday, September 20, 2010

September 1st

Piles and piles of dirty laundry speckling my room like landmines and the smell of all the socks you abandoned and the face you make when I make stupid jokes about it and how hard you try to make me smile when I am confused watching your life combining with mine like the colors being put in the same wash cycle as the whites I think it will be something terrible, something to clean up, but here you are snoring softly on my bed and it is something beautiful, you’re stretched like a stray cat that only stays long enough for a nap, and I can remember what it is like to miss you and I can remember all of the reasons why everything is always going to be okay because being around you is like the first day of the month.

Friday, September 10, 2010

walking, walking

Walking around the city, walking in circles,
walking around forgetting to call it home.
Instead of watching the people, catching their bits and pieces
as they float, dance, zoom around the city like dandelions,
instead of the circles I rotate my jumbled limbs back into place.
Directionally retarded, I confess.
The smirks smile it into a joke,
but the truth is that I am constantly in motion.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

it's something

Isn't it something that we are most beautiful when everything is okay,
like the apple cheeks of a wind kissed autumn pinching us into September,
or the two of us on a Saturday night surrounded by lists of things
(to do), and nothing but our flushed secret tellings and hands that know exactly when to hold each other on a mattress built for this kind of living, and mornings straight out of the shower with a yellow towel keeping me from the possibilities waiting beyond the front porch. Isn't it something that all of the makeup in the world can't fix
the absence of beauty, like mornings when the porch seems like a prison settle
in its place, whispering about going back to bed?

what happens when your dad doesn't know everything anymore

My dad says it's water under the bridge, but what my dad doesn't know
is that I'm still looking for that bridge.
To what, to where, to how? My dad can't even answer when.
Being small can mean so many different things, but for a long, long time
it meant MY dad is the strongest bravest tallest biggest
he can beat up your dad he can fix it he can always, he can always.
My dad keeps talking about that bridge, but now all I'm thinking about is the water.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

7 am

At 7 am there is absolutely nothing to do at all
except watch the tiniest things that you’ll forget by noon,
like the sunlight and tree branch dancing in a shadow
or the sleep bubble wrapping the city's breathing at least for a few more hours, nothing to do at all except maybe detour around the 5 o clock shadow
and remember all of the reasons why the tiniest things that I'll forget by noon are still much bigger than me.