I can smell tears in my nose. I wonder if I am supposed to cry.
Monday, December 7, 2015
The Present
I feel really raw, really present. More so than I can ever remember. But it isn't like they all say. The present drags on. It doesn't give any gifts. I make up crafts for myself to do so that I can notice the time passing and the seasons changing. I buy groceries and try new recipes, only to throw out food because time won't pass fast enough for me to get hungry enough to eat it all. No one comes to me to stay. I am present, alright. Like the axel of a wheel. Things are happening around me, happening to other people, and I stay put, just connected enough to not be able to complain. What happens next? What happens next?
Honey Amber Cloud
If unending honey poured over my head,
Smoothed down my hair,
Flowed over the bow of my lips,
And made of me a relic in amber;
It were hardly more soothing
Or blindly caressing
Or impetuously present
(Forbid me to move!)
Than this golden cloudscape,
This peaceful floating
Of you
And I.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Leveling Up
we are leveling up;
the you and me
morphing into a we,
an us that slips into our speech
unexpectedly.
the girlfriend and boyfriend
we've been tossing around
have set down on the ground,
and the future
that looked like tomorrow
is actually quite further off
and farther
along.
the you and me
morphing into a we,
an us that slips into our speech
unexpectedly.
the girlfriend and boyfriend
we've been tossing around
have set down on the ground,
and the future
that looked like tomorrow
is actually quite further off
and farther
along.
Friday, October 9, 2015
what to do what to do
boston is getting a bleaching,
the color leeching
out, puddling
around my shoes.
the color leeching
out, puddling
around my shoes.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Friday, August 21, 2015
What Game?
I guess I'll leave it here,
This discontented thought-wracked day.
Nothing has changed, but I am tired.
There is some game going on and
I don't understand how to win.
I've spent the day in determined panic,
My arms braced for impact.
I am tired of remembering to
Hold you at arm's length.
I Pick Myself Up
I do not belong here,
On this shelf with your other toys.
I pick myself up, dust myself off.
Work the paralyzing hope out of my joints.
I clambor down, clumsy first, then flying.
If you want me, you can call.
If I can hear you I will answer
Because I love you.
But I am running now,
By tonight, who knows where I'll be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)