In
writing on 10.05.09 at 04:07:11 PM
the center of a soul
is all that it takes
to find where you call
home.
the ringing in our ears
playing off the doors in
the copper canyons of our
rome.
the center of our heart
is all that it takes
to save our souls for
home.
the lingering in our feet
bouncing off the floors
in marble monsoons of
hope.
In
writing on 09.12.09 at 12:39:11 AM
Tunnels are built by
women
of men:
manipulating explosive design
into a subtle science
of opening the immovable
creating chasms
we talk quietly
through.
Tunnels are just one
of a thousand superstitions
from youth like your feet held
high over tracks that
carried prosperity to my
home before it was
our home.
We hold our breaths to pass
by the entrance too,
with darkness and horns
and counting and a magnetic
vacuum of instant time travel
in your mind and my mind
and their mind and our mind
pulling us true: on pavement
or track or feet or on a playground
next to swings taking us higher and
straighter into the night air as you remember
exactly the story we are going to tell each other
just after the bark is shook loose from corduroy
like dandelions rubbed on palms or noses as we mark
every youth.
Tunnels are built to pass through
with the recalcitrant light eschewing the end of
false darkness on a granite
we used to use to outline black powder hands
to show that we are more human
than previous incarnations.
Tunnels are easy to pass through
even though the darkness seems
darker like a bulb flitting out at
the last second.
This tunnel we pass through
fast like a builder to
unfasten earth.
Tunnels are for passing through:
you and I?
well we’ll just enjoy the view.
In
writing on 08.20.09 at 11:50:45 AM
set it on fire
is the only advice
that i never received
but wish i had when
i was thirteen.
set it on fire,
is the only metaphor
that has less to
do with guidance
and more to with
living.
set it on fire,
are the only words
with which to see the
world through eyes
to know they are working.
In
writing on 08.20.09 at 11:46:53 AM
Sunsets are only the beginning
In
writing on 08.20.09 at 11:40:33 AM
i am the horse that
you keep in your stable for
riding through fields.
In
writing on 08.12.09 at 10:37:29 AM
if you bring the smirk
i will bring the getaway car
and magnificence.
In
writing on 08.09.09 at 12:13:23 PM
i know that i could sleep next to you:
we would huddle in all of those
fairytales to hide the monster
living in our closet.
the one who likes to eat laughter, even
more than he likes those cakes made of
chocolately ideas we forget to feed
us.
i know that i should dream next to you:
we fly over the mountains and
rivers like our capes flittering
with word like confections that
love is made by the sand we are
from and you, you would sleep next to me:
to breathe out all of that
history to make room for us to inhale
future like a hukuh left behind
by the forgetful caterpillar
who smiles to guide the
story.
you know that you would dream next to me:
and we would take off in that rocket
across the galaxy on the left
hand side of visible
certitude.
you know that we should remember forever:
every unknown quantity that has
us wondering what happens from watch to
watch.
we know that we can keep this together:
even though we worry about how close we are
to the september of our
life.
we know this will never define us, but rather unite us.
In
writing on 08.08.09 at 12:09:43 PM
my brain does not want
to write a haiku right now,
It would rather make out.
In
writing on 08.07.09 at 12:55:03 PM
when i first learned to turn a phrase
i thought everyone knew
exactly
where the words would
fall.
when i first found how to turn a page
i thought everyone grew
precisely
from the same rain swept
call.
when i first opened a new door
i thought everyone knew
absolutely
when they had left their
hall.
now that my sentences are tried and true
i know that what we view
imaginitively
is who we really are in chaos’
squall.
In
writing on 08.05.09 at 11:12:08 PM
if i were to whisper your name
on that note we passed
back and forth on the bus
on our way to see waterfalls
that were carved out of stories
that you told me you
could never tell anyone.
would you hold it to your mouth
trying to recite every gob of
ink trailing through the paper
like a braille tossed lover?
if i were to slip through your frame
and pretend to know who you are
after the blush has subsided
from your neck and lobes,
oh those ear lobes I had
forgotten you had them next
to my lips as they provided relief.
would you hold your head closer
so that i can whisper that i…?
