Little lover of solitude


walk down the avenue blocks

heavy feet in rubber boots
you’re in a movie

set to Spanish jazz

wash the world grey

observe the sky crying on the other side of a  puddle

maybe you’d be happier there

some better, sepia-toned, upside down frown

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Think of Me

What must you think of me? 

she’s burning to ask

at the risk of sounding insecure

she’s curious

if she said it without hesitation

eyes, milky with honesty

tone, dry like sandpaper tongues

vein, pumping blood sideways on her forehead

it would be enough if he said

I think of you

Some people are just M&M’s


Some people are just M&M’s

sugar and chocolate

exoskeleton that snaps between your teeth

yellow like a taxi

blue like a Gatorade

leave them in the sun and they melt like lovers

they come neatly wrapped in paper packaging

that you’re meant to open

perforated to perfection

tempting your redemption

it wasn’t happenstance

you were set up

Saturday Poem: Blood and Compliments

there was a moment when you thought that you could see your blood

while it was still blue and pulsing

when you thought that you knew absolute truths

about helicopters and stars in the heavens

you definitely believed you necklace

when the clasp trailed to your collar bone

and it whispered in your ear that someone was thinking of you

and how they’d like to touch your skin

when you distrusted that the cracks in the pavement

were breaking your mother’s spine

was about the same time that you decided

you were probably wrong about everything you knew for a fact

so, now when he pays you a compliment it’s only true

for the next sixty seconds

even though when you say the same thing you’ll mean it

forever is a circle

the kind you can’t swallow

A Sunday Poem: Sheets


Sometimes I have a dream that I’m laughing

on white sheets in midday

in the room I grew up in

with the sun striping every shadow from your face

you pull my leg over your hip

and I say, “how romantic”

We both know the meaning

of white and light

kissing without tongues

laughing without jokes

dreams start and end like men

out of haze into haze

starting life without a shadow on your face

ending life under the cover of sheets


A Saturday Poem: Short Changed

He’d hate to think that he could rhyme

that through his teeth a whistle chimes

that in his mind a picture stirs

of a lit and sugared Douglas fir

that he’d remember trees with sorrow

that he’d want today more than tomorrow

that he really could erase forever

the pencil marks of past endeavors

that anyone could make him feel

the clicking of a three inch heel

that when the day looks so divine

regret sleeps, smiling in his spine