miss you
every day
but less ish.
don’t go
don’t leave.
even my nightmares.
you’re too tall
wearing a jacket you’d never
oblivious to being a ghost.
but only in my dreams.
haunt me
scare me
you could never
but.
i want to love you
in the present
forever.
miss you every day but less ish. don’t go don’t leave. even my nightmares. you’re too tall wearing a jacket you’d never oblivious to being
how is your head young lady the moon is on your side tonight i have known you for thousands of years traced your form in
time will never heal this wound ravine, canyon the springfield gorge. the clock tends like a nurse caretaker, curator groundskeeper willy. missing him always. wishing
woke to the sound of my mom’s voicemail…then her broken voice and…nothing. in. between…then my feet on broken glass glossy white paint flawless save the
where the angle of the trunk allows humans to be silly and reckless stretching out over low levels of occasional rapids high levels of constant
i used to make my dad mix cd’s. he loved finding what came to be some of his favorite artists this way. (another connection we
what happens now save every voicemail not that his tone would have been forgotten but to hear him call me tweety as many times as
the magic of a fresh cut i am literally lighter though not by much my shoulders have less to lug my neck has less to
write some poems that i can give him ok (but they’ll all be about the hims) good idea bad idea no good twinning and losing
peering through thick glass your back to me is waiting any news at all? running down broad steps into your brotherly arms crying without breath!
is it the ticking of the third hand or the faucet dripping onto discount bulk blueberries both measuring time “going in circles” as he would
you are your own though your temperament reminds me of him your head is more ripe mango while his was more soft plum my love
how long it’s been. haven’t been counting days haven’t counted backwards on the calendar. haven’t bothered to reread my own words. haven’t been missing you
your blue eyes and crooked lippy smile which i inherited that tiny soft bristle brush for your basically bald head the white corvette a campfire cards
what did falling in love feel like to you actual falling a new winter sweater a blood flutter did you question its science or were you
sometimes the wind the waves muffle and drown my memories sometimes the wind the waves magnify and amplify the sound of your voice and clearing
this is a silent film flickering catching starting over emptiness surrounding such a blinding contrast ahead of us shared stories captured images disconnected nonsensical we
It isn’t easy being a twin. Others considered us as one two-part person, while our parents saw, in our conspiring, four or more.
dark morning darkness woke up crying i now embrace the word should. it’s a simple truth. my dad should be with me on my
i lost you so suddenly too suddenly your blue eyes in a constant state of near tear because you loved life giving us so much
accessing my vision, mobility and life saving drug is a greater challenge than the MS itself. ONE .5mg pill / day forever or until it
your ……. face against the bruised air between my quiet mind and the raging storm …. panic .. desire …….. pain and wishful logic slowly …
my wake centered on my back crippled by unconsciousness he places a kiss my run breath rising with the sun footsteps in opposition to the
find a shallow glass bowl of any non color with any power of translucency place it on a contrasting surface merely for preparation this shallow
existing in halves one foot in the sand one boot in the snow full and void rarely a windless day and so the sky celebrates
it was our privilege to watch la bamba in the master bedroom our preteen bellies full of linguine with canned clam sauce prone posed and
i am in every room eclectic functions grounded purpose my vulnerable brain unruly mind neglecting to preheat the oven succumbing to the chorus that’s been
a somber run but a fine speed off to the side lost in my breath’s greed at quite some distance many paces behind ding ding
heading south i see her approaching by borrowed bicycle white earbuds white capri pants white breezy bob pedaling to the rhythm section of her chin
they rest on the surface of me granting my entry into the most sacred of places a surprising density with neither mass nor saturation i
she is trapped an arid word she’d never thought to use herself on behalf of herself not in this timeline a word she’d used often
there’s no such thing as a perfectplace. no hardwood floor without that one exposed nail head no bookshelf full of novels that evoke only layered
silence but for my poppa’s clock now set to spring climbing up climbing out of myself burrowing into an unidentifiable comfort present most times of
existence becomes a soft lens a distant campfire a weak cup of tea no less real when we are chest to spine always simple always
your grip about my rib cage guiding lifting propelling in forward motion the grace of pas de deux the ferocity of a mosh pit we
the kind of day my jaw bone gnashes on an invisible feast craving to create craving to feast on the creation but with instrument missing
she had forgotten why she’d even driven west this morning so she turned herself about and headed east she had forgotten why she parked the
my memories of you echo with the scents of mulch and bamboo of breyers seasonal blackberry ice cream the streams of car wash suds down
his bare grip strong encompasses my gloved fingers his own recent history the constellations of our midnight promenade sleet storms although tepid freeze my toes
a welcome humidity breaks through the seal of my skin seeps into my soul an onoff drizzle revives the resilience of my muscles releases their
your discontent began before your consciousness allowed yourself to fear it. having special requirements for your horizontal state i yanked the sheets out from my
he didn’t expect anyone to listen his brass notes swallowing up the water in unison with the mist gulping down the rest of us he
i walk for a long while i’ve been a runner hiker biker now a special occasion stroll a brisk paced too many beers too many
if only i could brace myself no i’m taken aback every time it comes from the back alley and kicks me in the jaw heel.
owning in a transitional neighborhood is like being part of an evolutionary experiment. where i was once afraid to walk eight years ago, i now
i prefer the deep end depth is my comfort of somersaults and penny fetching cheering high dives into the solitude of aqua night my dreams
i want to land on you i want to feel a violently warm wind strike my face i want to lean into it unabashedly and
