The sheets are cold
The pillows mock me
with their softness
The bed is vast and vacuous
Without you
mock me with November 2, 2009
a makeshift heart November 1, 2009
An entire life dedicated
to a makeshift heart
to holding the idea of this love still.
And hold, it did, through storms of fallen debris
from the mighty gods of wind and wrath above,
through long, cold winters of barren fields
and cynics, through the incorrigible heat
of summers run wild; lustful and lost.
When, one day, the image of Hope Remembered arrives
on a city block corner at seven p.m.
and the all of everything becomes manifest,
Red threads that tie you to me
in just one look.
It was a Wednesday.
the mortal heart October 25, 2009
As a poet there are so few modern places to shine
We are usually most popular after our untimely deaths
And with those whom never felt our true affections, while
Our lovers are deep, dejected, desolate. We animate love’s
grace through the pen in
stolen observations and tinted
memories of the senses
Never do we hold else higher than
love, and in so doing, we
allow a kind of devaluing
of our craft—as if words that
stir the mortal heart are
cheap and plentiful.
Lo, I know these words are
more rare even than the
love of which they speak, which
at this point is some kind
of unannounced miracle.
Fallen from the starry night sky
for being August 2, 2009
People who punish you for being imperfect aren’t brave enough to show their own imperfection.
words never said June 19, 2009
Like a hopeful story I tell my grandchildren through black and white images, I never forgot you.
It has been so long, yet time measures nothing today. Mangled, I hid how entirely I fell apart when you left, and in your innocence, you moved on quicker than I healed.
The words never said that you wanted to hear: I never wanted you to go, my love.
Though none of this was about you, I lost you in the process. When some hearts shatter, they are silent movie reels spinning behind the red velvet curtain.
All these years gone by and how different we both must be, yet I have found no one else to love even a fraction the depth of you.
I still remember your hand I held, the cocoon of your body transporting mine through the darkness. Sweetness is the name on my lips and whose tears still moisten them.
In exotic places, I roamed free.
Though I know not if it matters at all, you are with me still.
whatever they are June 3, 2009
I’ve decided that for every teeny tiny thing I feel someone’s judging me for, I’m going to bless it with love.
That’s right.
No more wanting to make it beautiful for someone else. How about this instead–how about seeing it as already beautiful for me.
And with this, I hope to learn that it is not that I don’t measure up in countless ways, it’s that I’ve been letting myself down for not loving those places for what they are, whatever they are, however big, flat, speckled, lumpy, unruly, wild, unconventional, opinionated, desirous or unapologetic they are…
way to end March 29, 2009
The funniest way to end an email to me–
“okay, this is where you chime in.”
I love it so.
and i will February 7, 2009
I will make you a deal, my love
Give me possibility
and I will hand over the reins
