Debris

were you caught

in the firestorm of a million

conversations

or lost

in a dying admission

because just one thing I can show

and that is I am here                          

without you                         

alone

               

perhaps                 

just as it should be

but in our graveyard of

convictions

one last night

of fading ambition

your promise on the end of my 

fingertips

and it falls

it falls

The Bump in the Night

does it live deep within me

does it breathe alone 

will it break my heart

or just shatter my bones

A Million Miles Away

We are not winners.  We are mantras.  We are encouraging words sent to each other in emails that we won’t really mean.  We are inspirational quotes on posters with rays of light piercing clouds while beautiful people look on.  We are the two-sentence explanation that solves what ails the protagonist.  We are the ones who know, not so deep down inside, that next year will be no different from the last.  We are the dozens of therapists who ran out of techniques to lay siege against our fortress of failure.  We are winning at losing, and you will never stop us.

So he says.  So he says.

Stone

Far out of your orbit

spinning in slow motion

Trying to shout louder

than a kitten’s mewling

Will the planets find me

all my silent crying

When now I can feel nothing

only my plates shifting

Into old arrangements

nothing ever changes
nothing at all...

January's Relapse

Most remained here with me

I gave some to the wind                       

the wind that separated my toes

but something 
stayed    crept     poked

inside

whispered

never mind the frost 

outside

inside is just as cold

History

No telling how the earth 

will record this 

disaster

whistling dixie in

the wind

as if I had the answer

            ballet with fractured form

broken by vengeful rapture

the hammer flung against

the wall

Over

Here in your believing

triumph is fleeting

from so far away

no tongues left to speak in