cloudy

curled ospreys have nothing on gray ceilings..
the shadow they lack
turns the world in fear
turns the world blue in the lips
and shady on wide eyes/ us
underwater

Importance of time

you don’t have to hold on to anything,
not even the day
which slipped beyond the windows
long, long ago.
But when light shows again
know that neither of you
neglected the other.
It’s all as a wooden spoon–
does it’s job, then finds a drawer
for the night.

when we’re live

I guess
it is toughest
to write when I’m doing nothing.

Because what lives once
in passion
is never the same

as the next moment.
And I’d rather not write you
as a memory.

something crossed my mind, but I don’t know what it said

Tonight, my head is a brick in the pink cotton pillowcase;
I cannot sleep.

Somewhere, an owl hoots.
But the streetlight
blares in horizontal blinds.

I am striped in steady light.

Go to sleep.

Although your muscles
call you to duty,
go to sleep.

Although your brain gallops,
go to sleep.

Again

When
you are sitting in a bedroom
of a beach house
on a sandy colored rug
and the light outside the glasses,
the jars, the window
is more vivid than any memory
as if you have blossomed from mud,
this is how you are alive.

A little bit of motivation

I know I have potential for something,
because some slowly bubbling mush inside my chest
fills with sun,
The ray slows my heartbeat heard in my ears
and fills me inexplicably full;
With more worthwhile breath
than I think possible.

between the commute

I am the ghost in a window
whose eyes slide
into
and out of
focus; and when
she, with darker, limper
hair, reaches back
my letters reverse. u’s and
c’s and o’s
say they exist
before I do.
But in reality I have no idea
what kind of stale bagel
I’m eating.

Beach Sand

Because a film of sand covers sidewalk
outside of the beach,
it has declared no boundaries
built by pavement and little cabanas
Not due to an insurgance of nature’s power
But travels slowly outward by sticky feet of wanderers.

favorite fruits

There’s not much
to say about a rainy
Thursday, other than
sometimes you have to eat
the funny tasting ones before
finding the best of your favorite
fruits. Like nectarines, sometimes
you never know
what grew behind the skin.

drowse

I attempt to push the roof
out of it’s downward slant
in the warm place behind
my dull teeth.

Nothing happens.
yellow light moves in the trees,
Bouncing the suggestion of a sunset
Outside of my face.

I’m home again, sitting
watching the cat open
and close her eyes,

Everything
sounds the same.