Saturday, March 24, 2012


I am cold
My heart is cold
My legs are cold

That awkward coldness still tickles in between my ribs and chest from
a temperate conversation, flat and asymmetrical.

Guess smiling isn’t enough
to combat the coldness harbored by others’ chest.

Guess simple verse is heated to only room temperature
when there is only one half of four ears interested in what is being said.

Guess gentle eyelashes
And kind curiosity don’t carry much weight
When there is nothing warmer than
The reflection of a starless night
In the eyes of your landing spot. 

Monday, March 12, 2012

Who Knows, the Words

The remnants of it were still
in the morning light.
Still and patient
reminders of the crash.

They sat there in mockery:
Those tea cups and pot
That handful of dates and wad of tissue,
in order to jab a last time or two
before I descended for the day.

The puffing lids were of no comfort,
in fact
their consequence is being felt -
still and patient.

They will eventually deflate
maybe settle,
as does the thumping trouble-maker that instigated
this whole tragic thing.

A doll-baby sunrise dared to peak through
while I dressed,
ignoring the cups.
It was kissing my cheeks and
dabbing at cuts,
but I was in no mood for phony uplifts...

-though the warmth did bestow a gratitude in me for it's kindness-

I still
and patient.

I still,
of what these subsequent sunrises will bring,
let the production commence with words spoken
hundreds of times
in serial settings.

Yet the wreckage that has resulted;
the breaking of this spinal cord;
the tethering of this stringy hope
and the forecast for an unforecastable day,

it all leads me to know -
it is all proof that this time
I meant it.
I meant it.