It wasn’t supposed to end like this

poetry

It wasn’t supposed to end like this—
It was supposed to be a civil nod of the head
A conciliatory, halfhearted hug
And promises that we won’t forget—
because we won’t—
and that, in the end, it would all be OK.

Well-wishes for the next leg of the journey
with wistful smiles
and mutual respect—
Acting like the good people we both are.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this,
what sorrow.

Stories of Stability

poetry, life

When you woke up fifteen minutes early and sat down to a bowl of oatmeal and the morning paper,
noticed a chip in your favorite mug, and realized you liked it better that way
When traffic was slightly less horrible yesterday afternoon
and you saw a robin perched on the power line
When you got into bed with freshly-washed sheets,
and slept noiselessly, never getting too hot or too cold.When you laughed at the increasingly ridiculous tactics of telemarketers, and you told them how broke you were:

“Hello, is Robert there?”
“No, I think you have the wrong number”
“Oh, well maybe you can help me out; I’m calling from the fill-in-the-blank research foundation and we’re starting our annual drive…”
“I have zero monies”
End call.



When you finished all your reports and left work ten minutes early
When you listened to the silence of your still, unoccupied living room
and you found a popcorn kernel between the cushions.
When you decided that matching socks might be a good idea, and you matched them all.
When you smelled the potent, artificial meadow breeze of the fabric softener before you started that load.
When you sang along to classic disco hits on the way to your doctor’s appointment.
When you met your friend for coffee and struggled to find anything to talk about, so you both analyzed the complex body of your respective lattes.
When you took a walk around the block and waved hello to exactly three strangers.
When you watched a forty-minute eighth inning, accompanied by an cold coke.
When the ice on your windshield glinted in the morning light, and you remembered your gloves to scrape it all off.

When you finally called your sister and you took out the trash

When your parrot asked you earnestly, “Where Bu?”

And you watched her take a nap, before snoozing yourself.

Predator (Siren Series)

poetry

I breathe you in like water
You rush through me and out of me:
a tickle at my ear.

I hum a tune that is faint and purple
wandering.
You barely notice that you notice me.

You will try to ignore it,
fight to push it out of your mind,
but you won’t stop listening.

I sing honey liquid notes
so soft
you’ll hear whatever you want to hear

You will find yourself
ever closer to me.
Returning to
the perfumed air around me:
Sweet lotus blossom
salty ocean breeze
paranormal pheromone.
Intoxication inevitable.

You will find bliss,
you will lose yourself,
and I will take you there.

If you come closer,
I will breathe you in like water and
We will rush through me,
together,
no more pain.

Never fall in love with a poet

poetry

Never fall in love with a poet

Things     get    too     abstract

Often too

hard to understand

Things    get    too    meaningful

Things    get    too     rhythmic

Too      beautiful

You should know what to expect

although

There may yet be a plot twist

In verse

If you try

hard enough

To read between

The lines

And spaces.

Not enough

concrete

Not here

Not immediate

Somewhere

In vapor

In twilight

In theory

Loose Association

poetry

Loose association
pastel childhood
therapist’s office
At the whims
of hesitation—

scribbled adolescence
black and white prints only
slideshow sideshow
in memory’s prison with
maniacal enthusiasm.

Melting into an armchair existence,
toes cold,
old blanket,
errant thought
afternoons—

Trained for careful analysis,
deep critical thinking
wineglass candle light
and year-old playlists.

Cigarette-smoke oratory
unravels the mystery of
trauma repertoire,
and the mid-morning cabernet
of incessant worry—

Desire that is directionless
panicked searching
for a lost child
in the store

Yearning as strong as
just wanting some fucking sleep.
Feelings as wrong as
just trying to figure out my shit, leave me alone
Patient as long as
it takes to decipher this ink-blot adulthood.