Page 38

Gallery Hop

I am a painting that's been hung on the wall
a moment too soon.
My colors have blended in too many places,
there are smudges in the corners
where intricate details once reigned.
I glare in all the wrong ways
against the beams of light that flicker
in every direction but my own.

I can't understand how you even see me;
the room is too big,
the walls too tall,
the lighting too dark.
You have to squint, just to catch a glimpse
of what I'm projecting for all to read.

I once was told that real art was effortless,
a second in time was a lifetime in comprehension.
And you could feel all that needed to be felt
by reaching out your hand,
no need to touch.

It was the effort, you see.
Feeling is all about the idea
of learning what it means to feel.
Not just the verb, itself.

Page 37

A Lesson

You keep leaving pieces behind for me to follow
and I collect them
as I always have done,
one by one.

Although your path seems inconsistent,
perhaps you've lost your footing?
I can see it the sine waves made
by the traveling invisible lines.

You're keeping the distance
between you and I quite long.
A signal of your submission to
the fear of what's to come.

But I still see it, that light I promised
to meet us at the end of this journey.
I needed you to lead the way, for once
so you could feel what it's like
to wait.

Page 36

Common Ground(s)

I remember this seat well.

I sat here the first time I felt part

Of a bigger community,
Of something bigger than myself.

There was a man on the stage

Strumming his guitar,
Pleading for us to listen
To his cries for understanding.

 I sat here the first time I felt vulnerable,

Finite,
Human.
And we all sang together,
In honor of the friend we lost too soon.

 I sat here the first time I ever felt at peace,

Loved,
Complete.
And it wasn’t a man I was thinking of,
For once I just thought about
Me.

Page 35

In the Background

I’m sitting here, in my favorite hiding spot.

I’ve become this invisible particle in proportion

To the enormity that is life.

I’m listening to conversations about unrequited love,

Betrayal, mid-term reports, celebrity gossip.

I wonder if I fit into any of it, even the smallest bit.

I can’t find a subject to start, I can’t find the words

To voice my own opinion on the matter.

I keep silent so as not to reveal my position,

However lonely it may be.

I’ve remained so long I just may be melting

Into the picnic table where my ass parked itself.

Perhaps my hair has made peace with the branches

That once hovered above my head,

I can’t even tell a difference between the two.

My voice ran off with the birds that sang too sweetly

To resist, and they’re mocking my inability to object.

I can’t be too surprised though,

I was always meant to be part of the scenery.

Page 34

Forecast

 

It was forty-five degrees and raining,

the day I realized I couldn't resist you.

A wave of wind and flooded pools on the road

swept up and carried off my car

and we sailed across unknown territory

without a map.

It was twenty-nine degrees and snowing

the day I realized I wanted you.

The smell of asphalt and ice still linger

and I can track the scent back to the moment

where our eyes met and I silently begged them

to never part.

It was fifty-one degrees and cloudy

the day I realized I loved you.

I can still feel the texture of the glass

and the magic of the fingerprints left behind

as they met our heritage on the other side,

a reminder that we are all connected.

It was seventy-two degrees and neutral

the day I realized I couldn't live without you.

There was music in the background

and bright lights along the ceiling.

But time stood still just long enough

for you to wrap your arms around me

and they seemed to fit like no article of clothing

ever could.

It was eighty-eight degrees and dark

the night I realized I was mistaken.

Page 33

Crayons

I am a box of unfulfilled potential,

a source of understanding change.
A beautiful transition from blank
to complete.

I'm reusable, but only if you know

just where to remove the damage
that's been done.
Although I can't promise I'll ever be
as good as new.

 I can take you to far-away places,

introduce you to all the people
you'd never get to meet
back home.                    

 I can show you all the colors of the rainbow,

how they mix into one coherent thought,
one world.
And we won't care
that we have to share.

 We'll have each other, you see?

So no matter that we can't smell
what we create, nor feel with our hands.
But it's real, just the same,
if only we imagine.

Page 32

A List of Wants

I wanted to smell the cotton of your sheets and the feathers in your pillows

because they left just a trace of your shampoo.
But I didn't, for fear of looking stupid.

 I wanted to drag you down to the barren soil

so we could befriend all the bugs in our hair as we gazed up at the stars.
But I didn't, for fear of getting dirty.

 I wanted to sing along to the radio blasting

in my car as we drove to all the places we had never been.
But I didn't, for fear of being heard.

 I wanted to kiss your nose and your knee and everywhere in between

simply because the moment seemed right.
But I didn't, for fear of feeling close.

 I wanted to tell you how much I hated to let go

of your finger as it held onto my own in silent promise.
But I didn't, for fear of fulfilling my biggest want.

Page 31

Box Five.

I miss the way you whispered into my ears at the crack of dawn

and the way your hands unconsciously found mine as we dreamt.

I miss the smell of certainty that lingered within the space

between your neck and your right shoulder,

which happened to so perfectly hold the base of my chin

as I buried my face and coincidentally, my worries.

I miss the texture of your hair and the way my fingers

choreographed their movement throughout each strand.

I miss the way you flinched as I inched

closer to your lips.

I miss the depths of your eyes as they flooded into my own

with just a glance and a smile.

I miss the waves we made as we crashed

into linens, into counters, into walls.

I miss the way you sang me to sleep

not with words, but the motion of your arms

as they wrapped around my waist

to tell stories of how much you loved me.

But most of all, I miss the false belief

That I would never have to pack away

These memories in a box,

Just to take them out and remember

How much I miss you.

Page 30

Lectures

Your tongue spits out words like nails

that penetrate every cell of my skin.

They force themselves through with anguish
and I can't understand how they mean so little
and yet so much at the same time.

You speak with your hands waving in maniacal fashion,

they whip around with a force that cracks the ground, cracks open wounds.
The air you exhale leaves behind a bitter aftertaste of salt
that's now sinking into the threshold you left in between my heart
and my chest.

Sometimes I think this was your plan all along,

to break me down bit by bit with cold shoulders
and mutterings of indifference
and screams of silence.

I once knew of a time when I admired the rhythm that flowed

from the depths of your throat to the outline of your lips
and beyond.
I was foolish to ever believe it was music meant only for me to hear.
I realize now that the sounds you project are really just sirens
warning me of the impending dangers yet to come.

I wait and listen for the noise to catch up to where I've been

so at least I can be aware of when to run.

Page 29

Parasites

Here's to faces lost and found, before I learned to hit the ground

that's where we met, did you forget?
Between a rock and a hard place.
Ah, the sweetness of romance, I remember the taste.

 I've just now seen the ropes and chains

you've bounded here and there with reigns,

fully attached at bone and joint and nerve

and wrapped around my every curve.

 You pull and yank and whip and jerk

to correct and fix my every quirk.
I will not succumb to every whim,
no matter how you contort each limb.

You've dragged me so far to reach the top,

if but to watch me fade as I fall.
And yet I wonder how you cannot recall
all that I gave for you to grow
You must have known.
Surely, you know.

Page 28

Man’s best friend

sick em' on me, dirty dog, and try your hardest not to bite.                                                                    listen here, I won't tolerate your constant barking                                                                                                                      
How about a growl instead?                                                                                                             
you look so innocent,sure you look so sweet                                                                                            
but doesn't your demeanor change at the sight of bloody meat?                                                                 
canned and bland                                                                                                                               
 your sustenance just can't compete with such a hearty appetite,

so I guess that's the reason you're craving something

 a bit more dangerous.                                                                                    

your instincts are starting to sink in and I'm still trapped behind this lead                                               can't you tug a little harder?                                                                                                               
maybe someday you and I will finally get somewhere that matters.

I’d gladly scratch your back if I knew you wouldn't                                                                                 jump on my mine.                                                                                                                           
maybe even stoop down to your level, snatch the ball from your hold                                     

and keep throwing in that direction you love, the one that keeps repeating itself

I bet you're getting your high now and it's too bad you can't tell me                                                      what ecstasy feels like                                                                                                                                   
I wish we weren't communicating from two different sides of the universe.

but more than anything

 I    wish                                                                                                                                                          
 you were as loyal as you were bred to be

Page 27

Greetings

My hands are trapped like leaky rooftops in the rain.

The only difference is the amount of pressure we’re holding up.

I have the weight of the world on my shoulders

And it’s only getting bigger from here.

I wish the seas would stop rustling in between my fingertips

It’s numbing my nerves and I can’t keep a grip much longer.

The earth’s soil is crusting underneath my nails and

I just want to pound them into someone else’s palms for a change.

 The grasses are growing a mile high and wrapping their blades

Too sharply

Around the base of my wrist.

I find it difficult to bend my knuckles now

So I can’t even flip the bird

To the birds now perched atop my forearms.

I wonder what they’re laughing at, anyway?

Tweet your harmonious tweet, then.

 We’ll see how funny it is to be stripped bare,

Battered,

And deep fried.

Page 26

Dog Fight

He bares his teeth and gums, growling like a hungry pack of dogs guarding their prey.

I am the intruder asking for a piece of what he has to offer.

Trouble is, he never intends to share any of his possessions.

Yet I’m willing to trade for any of mine.

I give a submissive gesture, avoiding eye contact.

He aggressively stares me up and down, as if I’m competition for time not earned.

I don’t know how to pacify his whims; I don’t know what he wants.

All I know is my fight or flight instinct is hiding from me, somewhere in a corner.

I want to prove my worth but so desperately need to run the other way.

His alpha dog scent covers up my insecurities and I’m attracted to the smell of his confidence.

I can’t seem to distance myself from this dominate superior, and yet I know it’s not likely to end well.

I suppose I don’t care if I get bitten and scratched in the process.

I want to be desired, even if it is for all the wrong reasons.

Page 25

Conversation in the Kitchen

"Yes, I've experienced acupuncture."  Blank stare.

"Why yes, I have indeed felt the pressure of pins and needles crawling along the grooves of my spine." Puzzled glance.

"How can you even ask me that?" Silent Shrug.

"I'll tell you when. I'll tell you how. It's called verbal communication." No response.

"Do you like symbology?" Simple smirk.

"Try breathing next time. I like it better when you don't take in oxygen to form words." Deep sigh.

"Now that's more like it. We'll get along better with your mouth shut." Grunt of frustration.

"I'm tired." Raised eyebrow.

"Don't you get it yet?" Head shake.

"I'm tired of feeling daggers every time you speak."

Page 24

Upright

 sand trickles through cracks in the wall

one grain after another,  it's all starting to flood in

and I feel overcrowded.

the floor is upside down and I'm staring up into the light.

I hope the lamp doesn't fall on my head.

it's unpleasant, stepping over doorways
running into ceiling fans
Will they ever stop spinning?

the texture is scratching at the bottom of my feet
and I just want the soft plush of the carpet to return
even if the dust falls and collects,
falls and collects,
and settles.

Page 23

Talk

we like the euphoric groove

of yesterday's tunes

and the glory of knowing

that hand-me-down shoes

aren't prying into our closets anymore

we like chirping birds

and brand new words

and haven't you heard

that "ain't" ain't a missing part of webster

these days?

we like warm, fuzzy sights

and endless nights

with striking lights

and girl, haven't them heels worn out yet?

we like dancing

and sweet romancing

and random chancing

but not so much the price we pay to feel good

don't mind me ladies

I'm not talkin' about the bad times

or those false rhymes 

filled with "roll your eyes at 'em" pickup lines

told by men who couldn't give a damn what you're worth.

don't worry about me ladies,

I'm just sitting here talkin'

Page 22

There’s More to Fall Than Turning

My hands go out like tree limbs

they're reaching far and wide

I know not of tomorrow

I know not quite of time

See these leaves?

they're burning

from to and fro

and side to side

roast like marshmellows

break my branches

pitch my twigs and swing

swing

                              swing

down ropes and vines

No, tomorrow I don't have time

I am not wide

I have four sides

and equal length in vines

that may or may not be used to swing.

Page 21

Free Association

I'm counting the impossible things
that linger within my dreams;
a smothered page
torn from its binding,
stripped and ripped
along the seams.

I wait along this railroad track
it paints a trail from here to there
and back;
a starting point no more, no less
but I digress
far from this stream

of consciousness, I know not where
to which it leads
or how to share
these wandering thoughts that gather 'round
without any means

to an end.

Page 20

It’s Simple, Really

I've heard a lot of sounds
but not quite all there is to find.
My favorite is the twitching noise
of fans running in rotary action.
They're always in such a hurry
to go nowhere in particular.
Nowhere at all, really.

I long for time, just to spin in circles
the way we all use to.
It seems so long ago,
the mere thought of play.
To giggle at simple.
just simple.

I'm weaving in and out of traffic
dodging bullets and freight trains.
It's all too fast here, this path that I have taken.
Can't anyone just stop and learn to breathe?
In
and consequently,
out?

Page 19

Memory Trace

we're sitting on logs like chameleons
changing into a constant state of preparation.
knowing that we're ready
for whatever happens to squander along.

my eyes turn green
your skin flushes red
our pigments dance like fireflies in the moonlight
and jumble themselves together
until colors no longer seem important

we're looking at the stars;
at the grass as it tussles in the wind;
at the water that ripples like sound waves
and yet I still can't hear you calling

not anymore, that is.

Page 18

Feeling Trapped

I wake up every morning to the sounds of nails
pounding into the wall,
scratching down a chalkboard,
falling to the floor one by one,
two by two.
All together now,
they roar like thunder
and I wish it was my car I was hearing,
burning asphalt into rubber as I
speed off and away.


I'll stop at the edge of here
and where I would like to go.
I'll look back and question
if I've made the right decision.
And the gas pedal will speak for itself
when I switch the gears from park
to drive.

I won't need mirrors where I'm going
or a map, for that matter.

I won't need anything
but fuel to keep this car running
so I won't ever have to stop and think
about all I've left behind.


But I've awaken now
and the dream has long been over.
My head pounds into the wall
I scratch my nails down the chalkboard
and drop to the floor, admitting defeat.

Page 17

Depth of Field

I shall take a vow of silence
so as not to disturb the peace that settles here,
between frosted bark and rusty seat.

I'm frozen to this park bench
and wondering what would happen,
were I ever to stick out my tongue
to object.

My eyelashes fight for separation.
Each blink a challenge,
it happens to the best of us.
That struggle against rain, so to speak.

I'm capturing the moment,
with lens in hand
and rapid shutter speed
because nothing ever seems to slow down.

But the focus is off,
lost perhaps.
I've been too busy worrying about negative space
to really see the whole picture

Page 16

Studio

I have long since looked at mirrors
that reflect all too well a portrait
I had hoped to soon forget.

there's paintings on all four walls
in this room where I now sit
scraping carpet with bare knees
cold toes
and weary soul

my eyes scan along like radar
in search of something bigger than myself
and this spot
you couldn't even find on a map

I soak up knowledge like a sponge
and hold it all together
compressed
heavy
desired to be squeezed out and shared

But I'm thinking
almost hopelessly,
that no one will want to clean up the mess
I've left behind

Page 15

A Bedtime Story

sleeping baby, dirty crib
tiny sheets, blood stained red
eyes for eyes and limbs for limbs
weary sounds will meet again

tear them down and pick them up
winter's found such sudden luck
a snowflake here, a tear drop there
I seem to feel them everywhere

blades of grass, whitened teeth
have no fear of sharpened sheaths
ding goes metal, slice goes meat
echoes like the drummer's beat

Two feet tall and a feat too small
hasn't anyone heard at all?
Whisper softly, not so loud
I talk of shapes within the clouds

Don't you see them,
one by one?
So close your eyes
and now it's done.

Page 14

Much.

I have felt this way before, you see

To each their own sings this melody
I love
You lust
I shall not trust

Your apathy, my certainty

Nor any other,

Unless I must.

 You scream

I scream

We carry tunes like poetry
And dance like waves
Upon the sea
I follow you
You follow me
We lead each to a place unseen

I stroke the ground beneath our feet

You pause to wonder in your seat
How could this be,
What could this mean?
A future tale to tell as such
And so you touch

And so I touch.