Limbs
You are a girl.
The one with big eyes and
compasses on her feet
the one that looks down
and shakes her head
as I walk by
and is too right;
I have no directions to give.
You are a girl.
The one with quick hands
and someone else on her mind,
the one that taught me
its easy to pull my heart out
and hard to put it back in.
The Red Garden
I walked with you once
In the red garden
with the forget-me-nots,
the kiss-me-over-the-garden-gates,
the love-lies-bleeding,
and the yew trees behind it all.
Do you remember the days when you would come home with green knees from the grass?
This is Just to Say
Forgive me
Father,
your sermon was long
and boring
and the incense
made me really
want a smoke
A poem published in Emerge Literary Journal
Hide
I see you walking
the sidewalks, the hallways
crossing out your days on your calendar
with a black sharpie
and your nights with whatever
burning liquid seems to be on hand
and I see you smile and laugh
though your eyes don’t brighten when you do
I see you burying yourself
in work and all the other things
as if you were afraid that the sand
in the hourglass wasn’t already
covering you fast enough
Hiding because you’re afraid
that people don’t love you-
that one person doesn’t love you.
I’m sorry about him love,
and I don’t know him very well,
but I do know a hundred others
that would’ve given a whole lot
to have been in his place.
Handshakes
Never more than a hand shake.
Men and women milling around
just as excited to extend their arm
as they are hurried to pull it back,
and you were in the middle of it all
with the unnerving habit of holding on…
Holding on just that one extra second too long.
A good, firm handshake is a good quality.
A quick release is a better one.
Morning
You look beautiful
Even as you wake, honey
In another’s bed
Couple of my words in Surfer Magazine.
Its hard to write
when everything is going so well
I remember when life wasn’t so simple,
when the mysteries of the universe
confounded me
and the stars made me feel small
I remember when I would shut the blinds
curse the sun for wasting its energy on me,
and I remember when pain was my muse
I’ll hurt again when its time to,
and pick up the pen like I always do
But for now, its time to celebrate
There is so much beauty here…
and the stars are just the start to that beauty
So here is a toast to a new season
I put down my pencils
and raise a shot glass
in celebration…
besides, its hard to write
when i’m wasted
