Category: Poems

Daily hanging in my head heavy.
And no matter what, I never feel ready.
Always slightly flushed, like you just came,
The flesh of your cheeks recalls hips of the same
Like the perfect metaphor that brings meaning to light.
The irony being that their meaning invites night.
It invites actions not illuminated, hidden by lacks thereof.
Lust, it seems, is a lot like love.

The desire lines in my head all lead to the same thought:
Paths less-traveled, but worn with want.
Lines of longing lingering on soft curves and in soft sighs.
Crossing in colored flecks, undefinable in your eyes.
Meeting in places impossible to touch.
Coming together in the middle, all of it all at once.
Absolute bliss or a close approximation thereof.
Lust, it seems, is a lot like love.

Your soft moves in every word
And the million subtleties of your smile
An undiscovered science of silence
A linguistics of movements and gestures

Then the foreign language of that dress
And its silent dialog with your curves
An unknown tongue flowing over you
In fragments and run-on sentences

I try to understand, but I’m stuck on the surface
Tracing the hems of your dress with heavy eyes
Thoughts of you slowly sliding out of either end
Or of slowly sliding underneath

Your language of grace betrays my best effort
To remain innocent, quiet, and disengaged
I am a plaything for whatever your eyes say
And a slave to any hint beyond them

More stretch, less tense.
More field, less fence.
More bliss, less worry.
More thank you, less sorry.

More nice, less mean.
More page, less screen.
More reading, less clicking.
More healing, less picking.

More writing, less typing.
More liking, less hyping.
More honey, less hive.
More pedal, less drive.

More wind, less window.
More in action, less in-tow.
More yess, less maybes.
More orgasms, less babies.

More hair, less cuts.
More ands, less buts.
More map, less menu.
More home, less venue.

More art, less work.
More heart, less hurt.
More meaning, less words.
More individuals, less herds.

More verbs, less nouns.
More funny, less clowns.
More dessert, less diet.
More noise, less quiet.

More courage, less fear.
More day, less year.
More next, less last.
More now, less past.

[Happy 2008, everyone (Add yours below).]

Maybe just a little bit
May be just enough

I’m usually reveling in possibilities that don’t last
But today I was firmly stuck in the past

Knowing and not knowing both yield the same emotion:
A shuddering ambivalence that oscillates between
Wanting to die
And wanting to kill

It’s like rain you can hear falling
But can’t feel on your skin
A thirst you drink to death
But can’t get your fill

You drink like you’re driving
And you drive like you’re drunk
Another steering-wheel sing-along
With the body in the trunk

Maybe just a little bit
May be just enough

Brake-light hesitation
and gunpoint inspiration

Maybe just a little bit
May be just enough

What we want from this time
Is to see beyond the sublime
To more than live, but to feel alive
And never cease to strive
To be more than a metaphor
For all the people who came before
To leave marks and traces
Evident on our peers’ faces
To know upon leaving one day
That we’ve proven there’s another way
To be, to do, and to thrive
To more than live, but to feel alive

I fight hard not to swallow the moment whole
Struggle to spread the taste out long and thin
And to enjoy the slender morsels
To let them linger with the few and the far-between

The chasm of clock ticks and calendar pages
The aching hunger of days inbetween
The latent longing stirred to life
With tears that swell from the gut and into the eyes

More of a revelation than an accident
To purposefully stumble into knowing bliss
Smiling with my eyes closed
My core alive with the soft gurgle of monarch wings

The long-awaited move
From a rut to a groove
Another session of passive aggression
Made the transition all too smooth

My decision had long been made
Far too long had I stayed
All of my frustration lost in the translation
Only a husk of the role I’d played

As she charged me, I didn’t look up
Hands clutched around my half-empty coffee cup
Feeling more affection in the swirling convection
I did my best not to interrupt

I don’t know what it means
So I’ll take it for what it seems
Looked deep in her eyes and realized
She’d given up on all of my dreams

This day is sickness
This day is disease
Tomorrow needs quickness
Tomorrow needs ease

Get on with the future
Get on with the mending
Finish up the suture
I want my happy ending

Today I no longer need
I’m writhing for tomorrow
This voice I’ll no longer heed
These lips yield only sorrow

I lie in wait of a new day
That silhouette on the horizon
The eclipse of hope and dismay
When next the sun is rising