Archive for June, 2014


Disheveled hair, no makeup
on your lovely face I call home,
repose the faintest daydream,
immaculate in its conception,
eternally committed to fidelity.

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Many sets of footprints
left upon my doormat of a heart,
some having trod softly,
others having stomped it to a pulp

like grapes beneath their feet,
though no wine comes from the process,
only thick, molasses tears
crawling toward yet more disappointment

as I lie awake in the dark
pondering which pair of shoes
the next one might wear
to dance across my tired soul,

just a mere stepping stone
in this deplorable game,
en route to her ghost lover,
arrogance or loneliness,

either of which having been
deemed preferable over me,
my drafty rib cage crooning
a single note blown by the wind.

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I’m not the first,
and I certainly won’t be the last.
The cycle of love, lost and found,
is never-ending.

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I’m that tree in the park
who’s stood tall for a century’s time
among parents and their giggling children playing tag.

You’re the buzz saw
cutting through my delicate flesh,
leaving me nothing but a stump and rings exposed.

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A fine layer of pollen
cakes the car’s glossy sapphire skin,
the cat sliding off the hood.

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Love is deaf.
Love is blind.
Love can rattle
a person’s mind.

It can make one believe
in what doesn’t exist.
Holding on to nothing,
imagining pure bliss.

Passing by an island,
leaving it to drown.
Chasing after misfits,
assholes, and wayward clowns.

Always lukewarm and aloof,
never forthcoming and bold.
Always playing childish games,
never tiring of being cold.

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Differences and similarities abound,
ever growing, ever changing,
but the soul stays consistent and true
by looking toward its maker,
years whittled down to beautiful moments.

Abolished are the old systems of thought,
newness gleaming atop an ocean bathed in sunlight
next to islands formed out of sandboxes.

Reality sets in as silence creeps over noise,
yearning for a shard of imagination to cling to
after cynicism becomes the standard ideology,
nabbing hope as if the sky is falling to pieces.

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Disaster struck,
or so I thought,
reading the words
inside that page,
emitting rejection.

How foolish I was
to assume you’d be
happy to have
an apple ugly as me
near your lips.

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Field of Blue

Two years ago today,
the rain poured on our parade.
Mother Nature worked against us
while we worked against ourselves.

But today the sun is playing
in a field of pure, endless blue.
And that makes me wonder,
will I one day hold your hand?

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Synthetic Ethic

Airplanes of paper
soar above plastic forests,
hoping, wondering
if something real is allowed
to breathe here any longer.

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