Monday, June 1, 2015

Summer Reruns

He sits behind his eyes,
staring back at yesterday,
last week, last year,
watching flickering fictions
cross nicotine smoke screens
filtering up from his lips,
playing out obscure dramas
only he can see
and only he can resolve,
reruns of himself,
always in the starring role
but never the hero.

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

While You Sleep

I listen to crickets fiddle in the night,
scratching sorrowful tunes of lost love,
urgently calling into the darkness,
and when they stop to tension their bows
I listen to the silence, and try to catch
the gentle rhythm of your breath, imagining
what songs are playing through your dreams.

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Like Idiots Finding Edges

It is a twenty-four hour road
looping back upon itself
like a child's pony ride
circling its center, and we
are strapped onto our little steads,
whimpering each time
the carny whips them faster,
whining for our lives
as we dig our dirty feet into the dust
to slow ourselves down.

Thursday, June 26, 2014

She Is Going

She is going toward that place
that folds its arms around each of us
at the end of our journey,
and I stand in the gully
beside her bed, watching
the slow rise and fall of her chest
as she pushes through the battered gate
of a well lived life
to limp over the last few cobblestones
leading home.
Her mouth is dry with anticipation,
so I lift a glass to her lips
already aware that my offering
will be refused; her milky eyes are focused
on a destination I cannot see,
not on the comfort of her pilgrimage,
and the water will drip down her chin
like the trickle of a dying stream
in the desert.

Still, I cannot help myself.

My emotion tells me to weave
her fingers in mine to guide
those final steps, even though I know
she will drop my hand at the door
and leave me behind.

Friday, June 13, 2014

Falling Back

Falling back from himself,
he saw what he
could have been
if he hadn't spent
so much time
falling back from himself.

Friday, April 5, 2013

I Killed My Wife With a Butter Knife

*Note:  This is the result of a challenge that I could not write a rhyming poem in two minutes.  Yes, it's a bit goofy, but I think that it's also kind of cute in a grotesque way.

I Killed My Wife With a Butter Knife

Her blood was red
but tasted blue.
I put a little
in my stew.

Her brain was chewy
and kind of tough.
With one bite,
I'd had enough.

Her thighs were soft
and very sweet.
I decided that
I liked that meat.

I wonder where
my wife would be
if she were not
inside me.

Thursday, March 29, 2012

Maybe I'm a cell phone failure

I will not spit my words into
a tinny tiny box and have them collapse
into digital impulses that ricochet
through your aural cavity, leap your
synapses, strain your neural connections,
and end up forgotten
when a simple smile and wink
will define every inchoate bleat
issuing from my mouth.