Monthly Archives: July 2017

With Cherry Stained Lips

Between my teeth
I pop Summer
off the stem,
roll it from one
side of the mouth
to the other
and with dexterity
I can still master
pitting the seed
from the cherry
and collect an
orchard in my hand.

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The Other Side

There’s a bridge,
tall and long,
maybe almost
too long to cross,
unless you can
hold your breath
long enough,
and if you can,
and as you do,
you’ll see
how the world
around you changes,
into everything
you’ve ever needed
once you’ve reached
the other side.

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Radio Waves

How did Summer
turn so beautiful?
When most my days
I’ve spent only
at the window,
and round me spins
magnetic wheels
with sounds of
radio waves.
And in the wheel
I longed to see
the face of him
who fills my dreams,
though at a distance
always, and always
I cannot reach –
him, who in an instant
knew – that it was me.

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Walking tightrope
losing balance
site of
other side.
Walking tightrope
tight with
eyes closed
hands stretched
out as blind.
Walking tightrope
better not fall,
tiger’s wait to bite.

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Connective Tissue

I don’t want to be reminded
of how the body’s put together.

Instead, I want to go back
to the days where standing up,
or walking were thoughtless activities.
Where there was no thought
to how muscle and bone
are held together
by connective tissue.
No thought to tendons, ligaments,
and sinew. No thought
to how a wrong step,
or turn of ankle, or turn
of wrist can send a signal
to the brain that the bones
sit too loose in their place
and move in ways
they’re not supposed to.

I never wanted to study anatomy,
or physiology, or to know
the correct or incorrect coding
of our DNA. But I always did
want to write. To have something
to say that might make sense
to somebody who’s out there
reading someday.
To try and explain
what’s happening to a body
in disarray, but instead,
I only seem to wax poetic
in the presence of disease,
and not to make light of it,
but maybe, to at least,
turn it into something it isn’t.

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Structure is a difficult thing
at collapse.
Bones slide out
one from the other
and perhaps they’ve grown
just as tired
as I have
of living in this
thin skin
that seems to lack
what a structure needs
most to stand.
And I wish it weren’t
so difficult
to discern the cause
of such a fall,
and that I could go back
to when the walls
around me
stood solid, stood whole,
and know,
the reason I’m now in rubble.

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Give me words,
in conversation
tell me stories
that I might
sit silent
in the sound
of vowels,
of consonants,
and how delightful
all your words
would be
for me to hear
roll off your tongue
as endearments.

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Every New Day

Oh, my Love,
you are like
the morning,
when the sun
first brightens
the day with
its presence,
and how
each and every
new day
is different
than the rest.

And oh, how
I wish I could
have told you,
how it felt
that first day,
when I was
woken by
your existence,
and how the
feelings dawned
within my heart
and than
reasoned with
my head.

And never
have I since
seen the sun
within my eyes
rise with such
that surely,
you must have
you must
have seen it.

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For The Faces

I forget,
that we
don’t get to
live forever,
and life
doles out
like it’s
writing a
and each
and every
one of us
gets to be
a character.
We enter,
stage right,
and pass
the lights
and squint
for the faces
out in the
and they’re
brief and
how momentary
our part
to play is.
And just
we exit,
stage left,
we take
a bow,
and as
we do,
we hear
it begin;
the applause
of our audience.

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