Tuesday, June 18, 2019

Freud. Ferns. Fences.

Whatever it is
that is keeping you from me
the place you were three years ago 
that never hurt but ached 
and made life intolerable but
that grew green things
that sometimes died
but mostly lived and grew and spilled
and wanted to be outside
or just watered intermittently.

Whatever it is
come back to me

Friday, February 8, 2019


Take your time
Let the last word you say
fill the room
with exactly what you feel
become we
Two letter word
Everybody’s type

Saturday, November 17, 2018

The Third Part of Roses::Delusions of Grandeur

The things that make me great
can be counted on one hand

I love you

There is something wrong
with the world we live in
War and Hate is not natural

The unknown is the only reason
we disagree about anything

When we think about the world
as each individual
doing our best to sing
in the choir of seven billion,
there are no regrets,
just reminders.

Friday, November 2, 2018

Flowers and Practicing Roses Pt. 2

My florist’s favorite flowers
are the ones that live the longest

Mine too

Yet, she still pushes the bargain bin on to me
We both know these blooms will die tomorrow
but man, what a steal, a bunch of roses
for just three dollars

There’s not enough wine in the world
to replicate the feeling I receive
when I replace every dying stem
from their place in my decorum
with fresh cut flowers
that I know have at least two weeks to live


It should end there
but it never does

Thursday, October 25, 2018

Practicing Roses Pt. One

There is a brand new typewriter
on my kitchen table
My heart has been filled with
suicide letters
since I picked it up last week
Thank you for giving it to me
for free
I sure am lucky
no one paid the asking price
for this old dusty thing
that is new to me

I shouldn’t throw that word around
as if suicide is something
you can mention casually
But everything I want to write
is about how I kill myself every year
and then just wipe the slate clean
like a pecked-at piece of paper
pulled swiftly from a pecking machine
Replaced, stark and clean
with a blank page
Cliche wrapped up in antiquity

Wednesday, August 1, 2018

No Speak

There are no plans now
It is you
It is me
It is words we never said
and everything we said that one time

It is you showing up unexpectedly 
and crying
and hoping 
and collapsing 
There in front of god and everybody 

And you told me to wait
it’s technical
it’s fragile
it’s sensitive 
There are truths that will make themselves known

I believe you

Thursday, May 17, 2018

May (One of Twelve) or My Love

I am ecstatic
and rarely think of death
the way I used to
We spoke in passing
of the way you thought
you would walk into the woods
and I would make a bed
in my downstairs bathroom
either way, careful to make sure
no one would be bothered
by the mess our bodies would create

I am only bringing this up
to remind you, me,
and anyone that is listening
dying is a part of the dialogue
that being alive speaks
If you want to marry me,
I vow to you
I will go out of my way
to stay alive longer than you
I am ecstatic knowing
you're not going anywhere soon

I am ecstatic
falling asleep next to you
Your body is warm
and particular and honest
You should know
that I cry more than you do
Every time you leave
or have to work later than me
Every time I move something
in our room or rearrange anything
It is just me missing you

My Love, I believe there is a space
where two people can live
without recognizing creation or destruction
can be thoughtful and reckless
think as one but be two
where perspective is often wrong
and admits so gracefully
A place where doubt cannot exist
and reassurance holds company
with the saints and everyday kindness
like an epitaph written by the deceased