Stealing the Future from the Past.

Move forward into your fear

and through it.

Where Do We Begin

Where does a body begin?

Is it in the hands?

The fingertips?

Is it in the color of the eyes?

Does it begin

in the rumblings of the stomach?

Is it between the legs?

Is it in the tips of the toes?

Is it in the tastes of the tongue?

Is it in the lips

or in between?

If the lights go out

in the windows

then you know

that is where

the body ends.

In The Jungles of Home

I feel more heartbroken and sad

now than I have in many years.

I don't particularly feel like being

myself right now. I just want 

to be alone, to be quiet and feel

the sadness rising like a wave.

What I feel seems like it would be

paltry compared to the grief of others.

Grief is grief. It sits like an uninvited

guest who never really leaves.

The Selves

It's best I've changed.

I've been a fool 

for most of my days.

I shouldn't feel embarrassed

because it's fading 

into the distance

of the rearview mirror.

I'll make new mistakes

but they'll be better mistakes.

Of that I am sure. 

How do the trees feel

year after year,

season after season?

Are they ready for the winter?

Are they longing for spring?

They are no fools.

They are obedient

only to themselves. 

Unified

How do you define the abstract?

Peace.

Such a monumental word!

So much contained

within five letters.

An endless goal

for countries and self.

Is it quiet?

Is it stillness?

Is it a stoic mind?

Peace.

What image is in your mind?

Sitting on the sand

as the waves come and go.

A stray seagull flying by.

The great yolk

falling into the sea.

Wars have been waged for peace.

Almost all ended unsuccessfully.

Are you a bodhisattva?

Are you a Saint?

Are you an enlightened atheist?

Can I tell you a secret?

There is no division between us.

There never has been.

POV

Who is the eye

which sees?

Who is the you

which sees?

Who is the I

which is me?

Who is the you

between us?

Who who who

is asked endlessly.

Who I was

is not who you were,

who you were

is not who I am.

The who and why

is always the question.

The answer is always

subject to change

without notice.

Telescope

That which was bound 

becomes un.

Condensed matter

scattered

into infinite expanse

ever expanding,

bringing light

to the far corners

of infinity.

Pale blue,

swirls of white,

smears of green,

smudges of brown.

Skeletal arms

held in place,

reddish brown

leaves

stubbornly cling.

A lonely being

still clothed

before

the snow.

The Reason

This has always been

to ease my mind

to ease my heart

of worry

and dread

to lay my fears

and insecurities bare

to see them before me

in words so plain

to let myself

feel the pain

to let myself 

move on

to live on

and feel

a measure of joy

to feel the sun 

on my face

in November

Cuts

If I cut myself open

will you love me more?

How many secrets,

how much truth

do you want from me?

Will you take the blade

and press it to your belly?

Steady your hand.

Let me give you mine.

There is no special wisdom in my words

I hope that's not why you're here

I remember what it is to hold on and let go

I'm learning still and it will always be this way

Unsentimental

I love you

You are unsentimental

but it's only an act

You love me too

On these cold nights

beneath blankets

your head nestled 

on my shoulder

your hand resting

over my beating heart

There is peace 

between us 

in our imperfection

It wasn't always this way

But it is now

and for as long

as love can endure

The Speaker

I speak to myself

Make promises

Make wishes

Say dreams 

and ambitions

Fears and uncertainties

The voice is always speaking

and I can never 

get a word in edgewise

I have always been this way

What can I do

but listen

and hope I can learn

something

from myself

from the world

I find myself in

Twelve Years

When you said it had been

twelve years

my disbelief covered me

in anxiety.

Had it really been that long?

Had that many years

passed between our lives?

It took me only a moment

to realize you were right.

So many of those years

I spent unknowingly 

lost in the cloud of my life.

My pursuits and ambitions

got the best of me

and pushed me 

to the edge of the canyon.

I had to learn to make peace

with life.

I had to learn to make peace

with myself.

I am a student

and always will.

When I look at the pictures

of the two of us

I feel as old as I look.

You look as though

a portrait of you hangs

hidden in an attic.

You told me 

you feel your age.

That when you smile

the crows feet appear

and I wonder how 

they ever tread 

upon your face.

You said your daughter

would be at home here-

the place we both grew up.

I could see you fully in her.

I know you're right.

I told you to come back.

Come back home

and let your daughter

reach her hand to the moon

and hold it with all her might.

Home is the Destination

I spent too many years

escaping home

escaping myself

like water

from hydrant

pouring into 

the streets of the city

on a hot summer day

Nights and years

became a movie without end

Plunging deeper 

into the work

into the drink

into anything

that kept me

from staying still

for too long

She is sleeping next to me

and I am here

remembering

writing

and knowing

there is no other place

I'd rather be

That this is where

I am and where

I long to be

Pause

Dreaming of a future yet known

push aside hesitation-

embrace the path ahead 

This way and that- 

always a fork in the road

The answer is obvious 

except when it isn't.

If you are ready to move forward

then direction doesn't matter

as long as the feet are able

and willing 

Human

The body

The center of existence

The home of Moon and Sun

The place of Light and Darkness

The interface

The ground of the soul

The shelter and the storm

The subject of art

The prison

The corporeal universe

The subjective truth 

The joy of life

The senses

The coffin

The animal

The scholar

The dying

The wizened

The fool

The cage

Changling

I have changed because 

the day has changed 

I have changed because 

the week has changed 

I have changed because 

the month has changed 

I have changed because 

the year has changed 

I have changed because 

the decade has changed 

I have changed because 

the world has changed 

I have changed because 

my heartbeat compels me

I am changing because 

life is changing 

Liminal Space

How often do we find ourselves

caught between worlds?

In this liminal space

what do we choose to do?

Will you open your eyes 

and see the stars surrounding you-

their light beautiful and blinding.

the rain stops for a while

as the clouds grow pregnant once more

Gripping

Do your hands ever get tired

from gripping and holding on

so tightly

How the joints ache and 

the hands cramp and 

sweat greases the palms

When is enough

When do the fingers know

when to let go

Advice on Dam Building

All the meaning you have created

All that you hold in and hold back

Be ready for the time

when it will need to emerge

and God help

whoever may be there

Good Luck

If you are trying to live

good luck

If you are trying to find meaning

good luck

If you are looking for love

good luck

If you are hungry

good luck

If you are overeducated

good luck

If you are tired

good luck

If you unlucky

good luck

If you are awake

good luck

If you are human

good luck

If you are reading this

good luck

If you are writing this

good luck

you need it the most 

Volumes

Between now and tomorrow

is the whole of human existence

Memories become words

Soon the page 

becomes life

and continues

volume after

volume

Invitation

Hiding behind the fence 

I cannot be found

Come inside 

to the living room

to the kitchen

to the bedroom

no one will know

unless you want them to

The Travelers

I see his shadowy form walk through the door.

He takes off his shoes, sets down the object 

in his hands against a wall, and pulls the hood

down from his head. He sits. 

"Are you in a hurry?" I ask.

"No. We have plenty of time." he says.

"That's good." I say.

We sit in silence. 

I look out the window and see 

the clouds shifting across the sky.

He's watching them as well.

"In all my years I've never grown tired

of watching the clouds move and change

shapes. They're perfect in endless variations." he says.

"I know." I say.

The light begins to fade.

He looks at the sky and the slow descent of the sun.

Our eyes meet.

"Let's wait just a little longer. I want to see the sunset." I say.

"Im not in a hurry. I can tell this will be 

a beautiful sunset." he says. 

We watch the light fade into pastels brushed upon the sky.

I can't help but smile.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He says.

I nod.

"Do you think you're ready?"

"Yes."

"I need you to take my hand and then close your eyes." he says.

He stands up and comes next to the bed.

His walk is effortless and calm.

His face looks down at me with a slight smile.

I watch his right hand reach out to me.

My arm feels so heavy and weak.

Our fingers touch.

I close me eyes. 

Condemned

Memories are falling off the shelf

They land on the floor

dented or broken

Looking in the two open windows

it's easy to see a light still burning

though it is dimming

A miracle is 

this house still standing

after so many years

It's condemned

but won't go down

until the wrecking crew arrives

Future Ghost

A ghost of my future self

Carrying a burden

On my back

Cord of wood

Splinters piercing skin

Digging in

Digging in 

Bear it well 

Blood dots sweating skin

Don't let salvation in 

Stubborn man

Don't know what's good for you 

Don't know how to give up

Let your knees buckle 

That's what you have always done 

Present Tense

To live with uncertainty is a certainty of life.

We reconcile this uneasily

but we move forward nonetheless.

My ears are ringing and 

I listen to them for a few moments

before I fall asleep at night.

It's nothing more than a steady reminder

of years spent in the presence of loud

and cathartic music

both as performer and spectator.

Recently I have been wondering

how much more I may have to give

as a performer. I feel uncertain

and that is a new feeling 

with this passion. 

I am learning to be ok with

not knowing.

Mystery must not be extinguished.

It must be left in the margins to exist.

A world where all is known is no world

for imagination. 

I move forward with my feet.

I may be unsure of the path

but I must trust them.

One Moment

I must remember to be grateful

for this gift

Even in joy and sorrow

This is the gift

This moment

Fleeting and

eternal

The Point

Careening towards the future

is all we ever do

Trajectory can be adjusted

The destination is unchanged

Make sense of this life

this world

Choice defines us

The end gives meaning

The journey is the point

Obscured

The years are only as real as you want them to be.

Do you remember being a child

walking through the apartment

while mother was in the kitchen 

and father had yet to arrive from work?

Our memories accrue with each moment

and yet so much goes unremembered,

forgotten until the jar is shaken up.

Father would take you to the airport

and park nearby so the two of you

could watch the planes flying in.

Behemoths soaring across the sky,

touching down in the near distance.

Years later a few miles away

you would be sitting in your car

trying to pull your pants up

as she straightened herself 

as a cop shined his flashlight

into your window 

on an anonymous night.

Waves crashing on the darkened shore.

Moonlight obscured by the clouds.

Uncertainty

Maybe you'll be the one to unite the tribes

and overthrow the yoke

Maybe you'll be standing in front

of a burning city hall

as you and your followers 

move to the next target

on this mission of liberation

Maybe you'll forget

to turn off the kitchen lights

before going to sleep tonight

Maybe you'll live comfortably

in modest luxury

in a small home in rural Mexico

Maybe you'll write the slogans

chanted by thousands

and printed from now

to the end of time

in the struggle against 

our lesser angels

Maybe you'll forget 

to clock in to work

on your first day back

after a two week vacation

Maybe you'll get married

and be content with 

a quiet life in your very own

suburban home

Maybe you'll fall asleep at the wheel

and survive an accident

that should have killed you

Maybe you'll give it all up

and join a Buddhist monastery

in pursuit of nirvana

Maybe you've reached

the end of the poem

Fallen from the tree

Carried along by the wind

Autumn comes early

Living in silence

Heartbeat thundering within

Quiet illusions

News

The deaths began long ago

but now they are appropriate for our age

I am uneasy when I receive calls from friends

I haven't spoke to in a while

I am suspicious and worried

I long to think it is merely to catch up 

When she called today I felt uneasy

My suspicions were confirmed 

when I arrived home

This is how news travels

How it spreads

from one person to another

Now what

We'll meet again in the place where there is no darkness

Moving through shadows in the forest

Feet touching pavement and trash

Walking to a home that no longer exists

Struggling to find a dead brother

The journey is over 

and now 

peace of one kind

or another is here

The last time 

was not particularly special 

now it is the period 

to the sentence we spoke

Proclamation

Oh Heart

How you beat

stirring 

the tenderness

I tried to kill

Let the beating

of your chambers

be the rhythm

proclaiming life

Night of the Cross

Inelegant sounds of the body

escaping into the night

Wide awake and listening

I cannot sleep

I leave her be

I'm just as guilty 

How did a year get stolen

so easily

How quickly everything

fell apart 

I almost killed myself

in the slow motion way

too many get caught up in

I stopped

but wonder

what would be

if I kept going

The only bottle I crave

is the European mineral water

I buy by the case

I could fall apart so easily 

once more

The thin line between 

order and disorder

could fit through the eye

of a needle

I'm tired but don't wish 

to give in

to peace

I wish to sit here

and languish

and crucify myself

to the cross of my past

Iron nails caked 

with dried crimson

My side pierced

with your spear

words caught in my throat

fingers pluck them easily

sets them down on white

Between Queens and Somers

Rain pummels the windshield.

Night has fallen heavily.

White lines marking blacktop.

Uneasy focus.

Straining vision.

Who knows what time it is

as the road curves.

It Might As Well Be Spring

Chirp chirp

    Chirp chirp

I take a sip of tea

Chirp chirp

I turn my head 

and see nothing

A moment passes

Chirp chirp

I walk to the window

Bare tree branches

Finally

I see her

Twig in beak

Moving branch

to branch

Chirp chirp

   Chirp chirp  

A Little Bit

Hold on to that bit of sanity

hanging back there in the closet

You never know when

you will need it

but you will

and you will be 

very glad 

you have it 

when the time comes

Moment Remembered

Old family pictures frame memories

I don't remember living.

Sky blue 1982 Monte Carlo was

the family car 

                       when I was growing up. 

Sitting on the trunk of the car in jeans 

and a long sleeve button up shirt

while my father wears a tank top 

that matches the car

as he leans into me and rests 

his right arm.

We could never be that young

again. 

A Bore

I have to tell myself 

I'm a good person.

It doesn't always

come easy to me. 

I feel the weight

of my weaknesses

and mistakes 

all too often.

At times it gets to me.

This was a problem

in the past that I am

still working through.

This poem is boring

and for that I apologize.

I am not here to 

mythologize myself.

The drunkenness

is nothing worth 

exploiting for gain.

A quiet and still mind

is more focused. 

This is where I am

and where I wish to be.

Ordinariness

 The more I search for work the more I realize I do not wish to place myself

into the position so many of us are forced to. Trading our lives for comfort 

and survival in a system that makes us handily expendable. Salvation does 

not come from an external force, it must be one created and willed. 

The crisis I have felt within myself has been that of a search for purpose. I have

defined that purpose by wanting to do something to create change and good.

I do not know if this will be a means to my own salvation but it is as good of an 

answer as I have ever been able to come up with. The path this places me on will 

be one that will consume my life for the better part of the next few years. I am 38

years old. I will realistically be no younger than 41 in a new profession if things 

all manage to work successfully towards that end. I feel so old and so young. I can

only move forward even as I look back and reflect at the time that has gone behind.

The coffee helps. It is not killing me, unlike old habits I indulged in. 

I watch my nieces grow up and the time is running wild and quick. 

They will remember me in the way I am now. This is the image they will have

of me, much as how I will always remember my parents from my childhood. 

Looking into the fields and seeing the grazing deer, what was that feeling?

The green grapes were fresh and juicy. There was a slight crunch in the coolness

of their taste. Simple pleasures that were once the heigh of decadence and luxury.

Alive but unsettled. Thinking but breathing. Living and sitting still.

Sitting still and moving through existence. Alive but never born.

Emerging into this world. 

 

Reset

Tea first thing

instead of coffee

just once

on this day

A changed ritual

in a different place

Sleep is a ghost

dragging itself

haphazardly

through

consciousness

A sore right foot

aching steps

Wind moving

through skeletal

fingers outside

Buds not ready 

to bloom

patiently

waiting their turn

A Life In Cinema

I remember my childhood in bits and pieces

As though it were a puzzle to be assembled

Isolated moments frozen and separated 

from the rest of the narrative

Sitting on the floor of an apartment 

soft carpet on my legs

pencil in one hand

scrawling lines on a saltine cracker

which I promptly ate

only to have my mother

walk in horrified 

and take both away

A large classroom filled with students

my parents among them

with me in tow

Too young and poor

to have anyone look after me

Everyone striving to learn

a tongue foreign to theirs

How old was I

Meeting my grandparents

my father's parents

Being in their home

in rural Mexico

Seeing the vast depth of a well

Watching Abuela raise a bucket

of fresh water to heat over the fire

for me to bathe in

Being in my grandparents house

and seeing a thatched roof

filled with rows of deer skulls

from my Abuelo hunting 

to provide food

for his wife and eight children

Scenes missing from the film

implying the whole

An ongoing story

with characters coming and going

Playing my part as best I can

Trying to not forget 

what I have seen 

what has been lived

What Morning Is This?

There is nothing normal here. We believe there is normal

but it's really just a matter of what we are used to. Then 

again that's what people who are trying to justify horrible

behavior would say. It has been more than a year since 

abnormal took hold of what we had been used to. In that 

time we have lamented the loss of our lives and the old 

way of doing things. 

I have struggled with myself. I have let myself feed the 

darker parts of my nature, only to turn back on them 

to save myself. I am doing better. I am closer to whole.

The honesty of looking at myself with open eyes is often

difficult. Have I wasted time? Have I wasted the time of 

others? Have I dedicated myself to meaningless pursuits?

Given a chance would I numb myself to the point of self

immolation? At times I feel like a failure, a fraud. This 

light is not flattering. 

At heart I cannot allow myself to remain in the darkness.

I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and the wind in 

my hair and feel that this is where and when I need to be. 

I do not know how far this path goes or how many days

are ahead. I must push onward. I have too much faith.

Kitchen Table

Blooming tulip

Petals spreading

Stemmed body 

held gently

in a milk bottle

Garbage bins 

sit outside the 

kitchen window

filling vast bellies

She is sleeping

in the bedroom

as afternoon

turns to evening

No Birth

Before the dawning light of life

Gestating in amniotic amnesia

Diving in place

Tethered

Feeding

Growing

Then

at last

emerging

from nature

Gasping

Crying out

A door opened

.Live with an open and honest heart

but always be ready to defend it.

The Gift

Memories are a beautiful place

I like to visit from time to time

to admire the view

Sunlight bursting through leaves

and ocean salt filling my nose

Present presence is a gift

I must give myself

however.

Now is the eternal gift.

Photo Album

Call it home

or whatever you like

looking through

fading photograph

memories

Eternal youth

frozen in amber

gleaming bright

Alive

so very

very alive

Pyrrhic

 The losses are as devastating as ever when I remember them. The loss of those you loved, whether to death or disinterest, never ceases to cause an ache in the flesh. How to move on? Slowly with measured steps. Treading as carefully as needed until the feet can move at a walk, and finally, at a run. Peaks and valleys that only I can remember and see. I chose to eschew words and let the tide of memory wash over me. It is as it should be. A story in chapters told word by word, sentence by sentence, until at last the thought is exhausted. 

Get up

get up

get up

get on 

with 

what

you need

to do

Grasp

My life is no longer my own.

I wish to be here for those I love.

I wish to be here for as long as I can manage.

I will fight to hold on to the gift

I will grasp it in my fists

I will  

Thursday Morning (February)

Taking a swig

from the green bottle

I've left it behind

Sparkling and clear

Flowing down my throat

I've fucked it up again

Yet you still forgive

I didn't mean it

to be this way

It's still happening

We've survived so far

A world caught in twilight

Moonlight drowning

the world in sleep

Waiting for embers

once again

Genesis

Are you there?

Are you ready to listen?

I have something for you.

You must be careful.

I need you to write this down

carefully. 

I mean it.

I know you're not ready

but this can't wait.

It won't wait.

This has to be now

or it will never come again.

In the beginning...

After Mary

A home you can never leave

A world that must be imagined

Lives caught in loops

Trim the fat from the meat

Save it like grandmother did

Cutting away

reveals the worth hidden

Use everything

Tell no one

Show them 

Honey Bee

How do you know

when to find me?

When to reach out

untethered

bound by 

invisible threads

and memories

Sailors

Sun collapsing into itself

Luminous and finite

Light has not gone

from this place

Beacons dot

the darkness

Sail home

Boundless

I hear myself within the sounds e c h o i n g through the Earth.

I am of the Earth when my fingers touch the leaves of the trees.

I am the son of a Mother with children in every possible form.

When I close my eyes and dream I become one with existence.

Boundless, 

                   infinite, 

                                 I travel beyond 

any imagined boundary.

In this Moment

It's too easy to be lost in the minutiae.

Pull back and look around 

for just a moment

I wonder from time to time

about the paths I considered as a younger man

I recall the desire to explore the possibilities 

of joining the priesthood 

when I was in junior high

 

Sitting at my desk writing

Listening to the worship music of

Turiyasangitananda

and eating a chocolate covered wafer

The stanzas are barely stanzas

and I don't care

What matters is now

Me here with myself

You here with me

This is how it will always be

It is how it has always been

All moments existing at once

Blessed Are The Stewards

You are blessed with time

You are blessed with life

Choose meaning for yourself

What has been told

What has been done

What have your eyes seen

Child of Earth

Child of God

Become the steward

Nonsense

It makes sense until it doesn't make sense

When it doesn't make sense 

you'll wonder why it's like that

and what to do about it

Then it happens again

and you're left wondering 

again and again 

at the whole of everything

and how it could possibly be like this

but you can't dwell on it

but your mind is tied to reason

and doesn't want to let this go

so on and on it goes

gaining speed inside your mind

until finally you throw 

your hands into the air

and let out an exasperated sigh

and go about your day

because there isn't much

to be done about it anyway

Oceans

There are no winds 

in our sails

yet still

we move

Don't pretend 

It doesn't suit your eyes

You tell the truth

through indirect means

Staring us in the face

looking back

meeting the gaze

Karma comes home 

to roost

Endless Finite

Everything is as true as we want it to be

Survive beyond the outer reaches of our infirmity 

Struggle bound to the marrow

Leave your bones unbroken

Tiredness Weariness seeps within

No time for surrendering  

Dig deeper Darling

Students of this twilight art

No masters among ourselves

Asking questions like Socrates did

If I were an albatross gliding 

upon invisible waves

I'd be content

in the endless finite

Make it obvious if you wish

Cloud it in black mists

Hide it whatever way

seems best

I'm tired

I've been tired

and it feels 

like an endless day

and night

of exhaustion

A marathon

with no beginning

middle or end

I hunker down

I try and wait it out

It must have 

greater patience

than I ever could

A Turning of Seasons

How slowly the world moved

as a child in the classroom

moments before the bell rang

freeing you for a season

Luxuriating in the days 

of your youth 

Freedom of the purest kind

Hiding and seeking 

Chasing each other

around the neighborhood

Cars in the street driving by

never bothering to slow

Be careful your mother said

One afternoon

a smear of crimson

on the asphalt

Summer turned to Fall

All the Angels in the Heavens

All the angels are looking down

watching over us

wondering where 

it all went so wrong

Their fates are their own

some of them say

We should intervene

and show them the way

say the others

Yes but they are so stubborn

and will rarely listen

say yet others

What is to be done?

They look towards the Father

and he looks back

in silence.

I can hear the voices down the hall. They are coming for me.

There is no more time for fear. This was unavoidable.

Now the inevitable must be faced. Hard rubber soles 

amplified on a stone floor. Murmurs. Measured pacing.

They have found the door. The furniture is barricading it.

I have moments. This is it. That's all there is to it. 

We are no better than who we were as a species several hundred years ago.

Our base nature is unchanged. Technology, shifts in culture, these are cosmetic 

differences that are merely new paint on old walls. 

Godly

I see you

I see the pictures of you

    smiling beautifully

    looking into the camera on your phone

You might be at home

    or at the park

    or shopping for groceries

You are squeezing your husband tight

Smiling

    that beautiful gleaming 

    white smile

Your children are beautiful

Happy

Laughing

Seeing the world in your eyes

Living that comfortable

suburban life

in a quiet neighborhood

with too many bored police

So Godly

So good

A saint by any other name

There's been a fly in your home

Your youth was a delight

You never had any doubt

    you would be a mother

It was all you ever wanted

You don't talk about politics

    but it's not for lack of interest

People wouldn't like who you support

They'd judge you

They would look down on you

They'd abhor the thought

    someone so good and kind

    could support such a man

Such a man

Godly

    isn't he

A strong man

A strong man standing up

    to speak for the common man

A strong man with simple words

    even a halfwit could understand

He's a good man

A good man

You're a good woman

A good mom

A good daughter

    even though your mother was a drunk

A good sister

A good friend

Godly

Goodly

You don't need to care 

    what anyone like me thinks of you

It doesn't matter to you

It doesn't change the happiness in your life

It doesn't matter what the mobs are doing

    what the mobs are thinking

    listening to such a good man

Such a Godly man

You let someone else's words speak for you

That your eyes are

OPEN

even though you're half blind

You're a good woman

A Godly woman

God loves you

He'll look after your family

The mobs will never be at your door

In your car

driving down the highway

waving the flag

honking the horn

letting the world know

you're a good woman

a Godly woman

and no one is going to convince you

otherwise

The flowers are forgetting 

what you told them 

to remember.

Days of Ringing Bells

Listening to silence

flow peacefully from lips

so used to speaking

of their rightness

and righteousness

Death and disorder

are reality

A ringing bell echoes

until a crack 

appears 

and tears it 

asunder

 If I couldn't change I'd be dead already

Days and months stolen from us 

A heist of the only thing of real value

History made

Decency laid waste

Drowned

I find myself at water's edge

in a city that is always drowning

Your reflection is in the water

though you have long left

I reach down and touch a stone

smoothed over from the tides

A familiar weight grasps 

my fingers

I hear whispers

and feel only wind

If This Is Now Then So Are We

Endlessly waiting for a day 

of blooms 

Caught in antiquated modes

My finger cracks at a joint

A sign of invisible distance

She is sleeping 

and I am listening

as I wait 

for the room to warm

Time passes and never ages

Perhaps merely an illusion

This moment is here

It is here now 

for you

Waiting for the moment

It never comes

until it does

and then

how does one know

The First

The fireworks have long since been silenced

A new day long turned to evening

New firsts become experience

I wonder what comes next

I wonder if it matters

Would I change anything

if I knew the future

Would I remain here

waiting for a sign