Closed

You think you know.  You can never know.  You will never know anything other than a name that means nothing to you.  You are trapped in the network.  The hallway has no exit.  The bicycle has no wheels.  If you step outside of the red lines there is nothing to stand on.  You will fall.  You will fall, and you will not even remember how to scream.  But it won’t matter.  Because no one would hear you if you did.  

Witness

time is a monster          asleep under the carpet

so easy to trip up on                   to cover in never

with purples and yellows      not just for pictures

but her yesterday sees

her tomorrow remembers

Knowledge

For the first time since my marriage, the dragon visited my dreams.  As we stood facing each other in the meadow I could never paint, I told him, “You were right.  I don’t love them.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I hope you don’t feel responsible.”

“The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves.  But, please—do you know who he is?”

“Of course.  So do you.”

My shoulders slumped.  “I knew you wouldn’t tell me.  I’m just so tired.”

“Then wake up,” the dragon answered.  “You’ve been asleep long enough.”

I opened my eyes.  When I looked over at Rick, he was sleeping soundly next to me.  It was almost morning.

Shadows

silence a mocking foe

I was waiting where did you go        

you cannot say and I         I just do not know

from way over there

you do not echo anywhere

I am so

lost

the deadliest place is

no place new 
at all

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.