12-24-14

As though our daily explanation were buried in the script of a lonely nebula
Singing its comfort across impossible years of distance
Unraveled and transliterated, would it blueprint my heartpatterns
The mathematics of our poetry
Transcribed in inorganic dust storms
Or is perfection too regulated for such trivialities
Is it instead the tainted soil beneath that curates the mundane probabilities
Do I seek homogeneity with the breathless
To reason away my own precipitate breathing

***I wanted to see how many multisyllabic words I could cram in. As it turns out, a lot, and transcribing this now was like eating seaweed salad with a spoon.

To The Strange Little British Men Inhabiting My Pencil Mug: An Ode

Oh, how gleeful your faces
My flat, flimsy companions
Startlingly so, you are
With wide eyes and fanned fingers

Your subjects shall ne'er be
Conscious of your grins
Static til the ink fades and your bodies crumble
For being made of paper

I shall not mourn you when you go
No affection is recognized in your printed eyes
But for the moment you shall live
Among pencils that are more useful than yourselves.

Cognitive Dissonance

In case we've forgotten how to write our self importance
Equations lost in mathematical spirals
Perhaps they're all just patterned lights
Has it been as long as it seems and as far as it is not
To pick up a frame of mind we thought we'd outgrown
Is it tight in the shoulders
My feet seem sturdier now
Finding the inability to be lost in sentimental incandescence
Shall we come to terms with it before long
Reconcile the scattered parts
Until your minds, your hearts, your thunderstorms
All draw their breath in one

Porcelain

As though, by many outpourings, one might be healed
Let us replace one sort of distance with another
One less pretty, perhaps
Could strength and fragility coexist somewhere
Without pulling apart and crackling
Like a poorly placed glaze
Shall we call the cracks pretty
Full of character
Or simply leave them as traces of something for which foolish seems too harsh a word

Almost Reflection

The things you learn to live without?
Touches 
Smiles repackaged and sent to another address 
Love isn’t like a bowl of sugar, we read 
Crystallized so finely 
Cradling loss for sake of inspiration 
Listen to them as they slip into your omnipresent cup of tea 
Dissolve your thoughts, isn’t that your metaphor here 
Say something else you don’t mean, sentimental heart 
Let the sweetness linger 
It all becomes a transient memory

Anne of Sorts

A thousand days of wonder
A thousand days of hope
Ten thousand moments lost and shared
In ocean breezes and scented soap
Eight hundred days of worry
Two hundred days of sweetness
A thousand times refusing to hurry
Ten thousand tastes of bleakness
The months becoming blurry
And strength disguised as weakness

Collaborative Poetry

Anatomy of Starlight

Stand

  Look
Look
     Look
Wait Look Look Wait Wait Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wonder

 Discover

   Smile
                  Smile
                                    Smile
                                            Smile

                                      Confusion
                                    Question
                            Wonder
              Wonder
   Wonder


Stand
                   

                                 

Unfinished sentences

Funny how many thoughts we forget we ever had.
How many ideas, wishes, regrets.
How many wisps of poetry get set aside for being too fragile.
The shells you toss back to the sand for being imperfect.
Stars taken out of our eyes and given back to the sky
We make our skin forget, remember that our voice is alone
No echoes, no whispers.
Smiles like clouds hiding the sky

Take my home off someone's shoulders
Place it somewhere far away

And just repeating

This is good.

Lineate

And we learn to live on the surface

Not the deep blue we drowned in
The sky, the waves, the tides

Not the everlasting green we became
The tinted stories and possible histories

Not our trees and rocks and mountains

Smiles like clouds holding back the blue

Hold your breath

It's the only way to breathe