Monthly Archives: November 2017

Felt

These silent footsteps,
and I feel as though
you watch me with
a million questions
I want to answer and ask
a few of my own,
but instead, today, I felt
as though I were a ghost;
invisible, a haunting,
but somehow always felt,
as though all the words,
they trail behind me,
in a clang, rattle and roll,
and I wonder sometimes
if you know them all,
or if my mind, it just plays
tricks on me (it must!),
because I thought I saw you
there in the hallway, but
blinked! and you were gone.

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If

If words were only easier,
words we hadn’t said, or
wished we said, or kept
inside ourselves because,
if spoken out loud, would
that make it true? It might.

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Relics and Ruins

The arch of my foot
somehow still manages
to keep me upright,
these pillars of faith
we were all built upon,
and how little we stop
to think that one day
we will all be
relics and ruins,
like long forgotten
coliseums half buried
and crumbling,
where we all fought
to outrun the lions
but still won, then lost
simultaneously; in this
thing called life;
a fatal exercise,
that it takes the length
of a calf muscle
your hand to run down
to appreciate
how the ankle holds
the foot in place.

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As of Late

My mind (as of late),
is so many still and quiet
thoughts and strange
how many I find
you fill always
on the peripherals,
coming forward
and then receding,
as though a pulsating
star nearly
a billion light years
away it would take
to reach the source,
surrounded
in a silver strobe,
a beating pulse,
the room; light, then dark,
your face; there, then gone,
but not.

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Wonder

I was starting to wonder
when the winds would come,
and it’s hard to believe
Winter is but a month away
and yet I keep finding
myself wishing, this year,
we could just skip to Spring,
as much as I love the Winter,
but I’m okay with pushing
Time a little forward,
farther away from the last
two seasons I somehow missed,
yet still, they took a toll on me,
still trying to recover,
not wanting to relive any of it,
even for a second glance
to make some kind of sense
of the abstract left in its wake,
but perhaps Winter will do its
job on me; found by the fire,
a hot cup of tea in hand, a book
in my lap, while snowflakes
fall outside and catch
in a swirling gust of wind
about my head – till I find the meaning.

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At My Door

I keep working
my way through
how many broken dreams,
shattered?
And I realize,
at this point,
do I care?
How many
shards of glass
have pierced
my soles,
for the written word
is all that matters,
and you?
Some kind
of meaning,
in the middle,
the mediator,
of my soul,
and I wonder, if you even
realize?
Taking my words
and re-representing them
in some
kind of form,
some kind of fashion,
but I need more,
do you hear me?
From you,
direct communication
would mean, a knock
at my door.

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My Eyes

His kiss
upon my face
is all,
is everything,
and I have
closed
my eyes,
for
he is coming,
his heart
breaks
beats
for me,
reads,
and takes
upon himself
every word,
every reading,
and I know
he is;
the epitome
of love,
my all,
for what shame
is there
in saying?
Love
is so
unnerving,
found
at last,
for all those
searching,
for something
all of us
would willingly
die for.

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Everything

Have we been here so long?
That when I finally found
“that face,” your face,
who filled my heart
with flames, as though
a reflection I’d seen before
in a window passing;
lovely, distorted, strange,
that oh, how I wished and
wanted you to stay, “stay,”
to pass through a glass
and find me, tell me at last,
how you too had been looking,
and that was all, “wasn’t it?”
that was everything
we could possibly need.

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Found

Counting –
how many
letters
throughout
the years
have I typed
into words
that form
sentences
in hopes
of extracting
some kind
of meaning?
And I have,
I’ve
lost count,
and have come
to realize
I’m no longer
looking,
but instead,
expect to be
found.

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Moments With You

It’s hard for me
to find the words
sometimes,
when I bite
my tongue
and nerves,
they get
the best of me,
in moments
with you
where time always
has this weird
way of warping,
around corners,
or through doorways,
till the room
I’m in loses
its surroundings
and all that’s left
is you.

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If I Forget to Tell You

How cognizant I am
of all your fastidious ways,
attune to like
all the words
that come to mind
to describe
all the ways
such keen awareness
prevails
when in your presence,
picking up on
inflection, movement,
words and feeling
between communication,
said and unsaid,
to finally tear away
this veil, however thin,
between us exists.

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Above My Head

How melancholy
this mood
affects my day,
where thoughts
have grown
so heavy
as the clouds
have gathered
above my head
that I must wait,
for a ray of light
to come
within this rain.

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Wanton Things

Words are wanton things,
groping for expression,
order, elusive beasts,
unable to capture, feeling,
stabbing ink on paper,
futile language, folded,
crumpled, torn, then tossed,
the ink runs, a stampede
uncaught, go feelings
unexpressed, now lost.

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A Nonlinear Moment

But how do I explain it?
When with you,
I end up in these spaces,
where between and around us
it feels as though
time becomes eternal,
as though the moment
always existed.
And how do I wrap
my mind around it?
To explain away
the passage
of a nonlinear moment.
Where time has found
a way to stop, however brief,
and show its many faces.

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It’ll Be Okay

I have to show up broken, and why is this so hard for me?
Because I don’t want you to see me, not like this,
and so I have to leave my pride at the doorway
and try to remind myself that maybe, just maybe,
I’m not as broken as I use to be,
and maybe, just maybe, two/three more months
from now my strength will continue to increase (I pray),
because seeing you have to see me like this,
I can’t even begin to explain what that felt like,
except that I had wished in that very moment when our eyes
said everything we couldn’t, that the whole surrounding universe
could have just faded away; your arms around me,
your kiss upon my face, and the assurance
in your voice,“it’ll be okay, Jen. It’ll be okay.”

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Now

I’ve missed so many seasons,
where I’ve watched from the window,
even now, as the leaves fall
as though film in slow motion,
and how many thoughts
over these last few months
I’ve spent in retrospection,
wanting more than ever now
for life to start moving forward,
with me beneath the falling
leaves, as they come down
around me now, and at regular speed
before they turn to snowflakes.

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A Composer’s Dream

The rain falls
like notes
on the asphalt,
the sky,
a composer’s dream,
and he weeps
while his fingers
glide across
the keys
and all the gray
that’s in-between
is where
the music is
within the rain,
between ebony
and ivory.

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Want

Want –

And didn’t I?
and how temporarily
I forgot
how much,
how incessant
this feeling
got once

Want –

And you come
round again
reminding me,
so much
I want to cuss!
away
this feeling

Want –

And oh,
yes it does
burn
like a something
mother
fucking
hot!

This want –

That I ain’t
gonna lie,
that thoughts
of you
kept me up
half the night!
and you know
the feeling,

Want –

That it’s
about time
you do something,
honey,
to help me
sleep
at night.

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