another old, old story of love – inspired by p. glass

after holding hands in moonlight
after silence so profound
we start to measure love
by counting grains of sand
teaspoons of ocean waters

when love flows over us
filling every pore
like existence desperate to continue
all the way to eternity
in one moment,
how could we not make love?

what else can we do?
keep it in?
let it fester?
hide it?
shame it?

when the last teaspoon
of ocean water
rolls down your breast
when the last star completes
a constellation on your hips,
how could we not make love?

love does not need be made
in that moment,
love is all there is
one touch, one kiss,
two souls flow into one another

like rivers into the sea
embracing the earth
filling every gap
with fervent

Image: The Lovers Painting – The Lovers by Pal Szinyei Merse


Porcelain Doll-man

Tonight, I write about how sometimes we have to shatter everything to find the pieces that matter most.

I see myself in a picture,
Looking far away, looking removed,
And I want to run away from everything
They asked me to do,

or just sledge-
hammer the flawed porcelain doll-man
standing on the stage singing words
so well he doesn’t realize, like Monkee’s,
they are genuine words of other people who
need me in make-up to don the costume hung
in the closet of life’s green room
and speak for them.

I see myself in a picture,
Looking far away, looking removed,
And I begin to make up something to believe
I pin something on my sleeve to seem genuine

a medal, a badge,
some rank indicator of success that pins
me to a thing greater than me, sitting behind
in the green room showered, un-costumed,
flipping two quarters, one for each eye,
while the porcelain cracks
expose a seam the spirit can
slip through and haunt the crowd.

I see myself in a picture,
Looking far away, removed,
And I mistake myself for a stranger
Under these stage lights

fading the doll’s clothes,
I strip.
I strip the old man’s blindfold
so he can see where he walked,
ambling casually among strangers with gin
and tonic in hand, numbing them
with his meaningless wit
protected, protecting, protect.

I see myself in a picture,
far away, removed
And pick up the frame and feel its weight in
my throwing hand

hearing the voice,
that Monkee voice echo back
from the audience, laughing
and jump out naked on stage
mistaken for a stranger
by my own friends
hoping that my angel didn’t
give up watching over me

I see myself in a picture
I look far away, I am removed.
It falls to the stage as fast
As the porcelain doll, shattering.

‘He introduced me to the Sun, forgetting we’d already met’

He introduced me to the Sun, forgetting we’d already met
Year ago when we’d lie together on the hill our front.
We’d dance in the rain, we’d grab hold of the rope swing
Toss ourselves into the river, tumbling down, laughing.

Now he acts like I haven’t been waiting in the back
Loosening my grip on him, raised on the promise he’d
Bring me back out into the light before I wasted away
Like an illusion, now I am under the pressure, cracking.

I wade into the water trying to baptize my new day
He said to me, “You were the only one. I was going to waste
Without you. If we do not runaway, straight into nothing,
Stand in the wake of our pain, it will all break down.”

With respect to The War on Drugs’ Under the Pressure written by Adam Granduciel

Lovers Rubato

Without words, navigate me home, heart.
Use fingers on ivory and detail the trail
Each pebble, each tree, each flower, each pedal
Some days, words seem so unnecessary
Moments, more so, when forever stays not long enough
With you, finding myself already home.

Flightless Bird, Dancing

He dances like a flightless bird
Imitating his aviator friends.
Is he crazy,
Or the last sane one?

When he meets the ground,
His mouth hidden from view,
Are the tears sad ones
Or the kind joy drops?

Resistant to conformity,
He must be defiant
With an inhuman rigor
To preserve his dance.

He thinks flightless birds
Are the ones
Who evolved
Into saner beings.

Serendipitous Credit to Iron and Wine for “Flightless Bird, American Mouth” from the Catching Fireflies playlist.

A Balloon Let Go

The balloon our sorrows filled
like helium floating upward
we held earthbound too long.
I looked at you and with eyes
swimming into one another’s
heart. The wordless answer
spoke by opening its hand
giving the sorrows flight
until they burst like the sun
rising on our horizon
whose orange melts
across the darkness
allowing the deep blue
meaningfulness of day
to arrive
to stick our hands into
to find the star
to light the remaining days
like an umbrella of softness,
under, we hold one other close
when the rain falls as
little drops of inspiration
drawing us closer and closer
until we melt into one
flash of lightning
at last, released.

A Mad World Poem: Queue the Music

A collaborative poem with my talented friend Christine of -Gecko

fills my ears like
gin in my glass
accolades for how well
I convey pain
others consume
I am their proxy
their stand-in
these words
I give
tiny pins
that prick
nerves like
tying up
this human condition
I am grateful
for the shot
at the main stage
the time you give
me to speak for
the lonely
the voiceless
the desperate
the crowd
praises my performance
my art
feeling too much
this fancy
red carpet
dress returns
to an empty
dressing room
to drink the gin