Gold and Amber leaves and lensflare sunsets on gently soaring bridges that kiss the valleys.I remember these about you;you say that you miss me,but I don’t talk about breathing. to put it blunt.
Post Type Archives: Poems
Career Counseling (2015)
I want to stuff myself with potato chipsbe mounted on the wall in a “natural” poseand look down on visitors allowed in the study. I want to paint myself with goldhide in the trophey cabinetand tell strangers about that time you got third in track. I want to sit in your cabinet with my hands …
By way of introduction. (2014)
Ain’t been much for shinin’ my own glass,‘n it ain’t some selfless thing. Want you to notice,just don’t want to make you.But it ain’t fair to ask you,if I ain’t gonna even gonna try.So, I wrote down here some things I want you to know: Sixth grade, I …
Burnt (2013)
I took apart your toaster this morning.It burnt my toast, and I wanted to know why. Turns out it’s just a toaster. I don’t think it meant to be a bother,But now I can’t put back it together.
Building a Fire (2013)
Building a fire,You can’t be afraid of the flames. It’s not that it doesn’t hurt anymore,It’s that I know I can’t let that stop me. There are things,There are things you rip yourself up for. There are things,There are things worth more. Whiskey bottles and guilt swaddles;I don’t want to go into therapy again. There …
Broken Systems (2014)
Rooster’s dead.Been dead for an age, ain’t comin’ back. Still, first crack, feel that pavement shake,them powerline pulses, oak bark fingers crickin’ the dust from their joints.‘n up Moses gets, puts on his flag pin,‘n lumbers on out to the soap box. He stands there a long minute,findin’ words in his old rusted bridges,ideas down …
broken bottles (2014)
They crunch as you walk in. remember the taste of each, different but of the same idea.those broken bottles on the floor,as I look up at you, unknowing.This is, this is the result, of me left alone with a liquer cabinet.The first broke on accident, a drop, slip of the fingers, …
Blowing Smoke. (2014)
I’ve yet to meet a poet– –that didn’t like center stage.No matter, no matter what poets claim. It’s all a big swindle, a laugh, a con. An’ aw sure, ah hell, might not like the attention I get, but that don’t, don’t mean much …
bleach, (2013)
The bathroom tiles smell like bleach,feel like tile ‘n grout,but here cheek against the cold, push. time …
“Because fantasies can be dangerous, and I kind of like breathing.” A haiku about spending nights alone. (2013)
Porn and cigarettes:Two things I wish weren’t asbad as they can be.
