I’m good at being tiredAlthough I have to sayI can’t quite figure out how thatCan help my resumé If only my exhaustionCould be turned into pay;I’d buy the mansion up the streetAnd sleep in it all day
Picnic in the park, Friends and strangers met to eat -- Summer brought the sunshine But she brought The heat
Is it 1983? ’Cause it is to me. At least — it is right now. I’m twenty one years old And although it’s cold in December, I’m burning like a midday sun, The course only halfway run On the last lap of the way to the finish line Called “college”. All that knowledge I Took … Continue reading "1983"
things not meant, but destinies; words much said, but little meant -- how is it we become these shells, our ways so damned improvident? oh, blame can be an elusive thing: the outer, the inner - they're none of them us. when the road that we travel is always one, a tricycle ends up the … Continue reading "a case of introspection"
he was your horizon; you were his fireplace. you couldn’t know the winter spent would melt away in grace — the spice and smoke, they linger still, the snow has turned to cotton — and still you reach, reflexively, for gone but not forgotten
Just past the places where we used to walk, Along the shore as evening fell in grace, There're still the echoes of our murmured talk And palm tree shadows once that touched your face. For dark though grows the water off the dock, And weary grows the heart that wonders why, Just past the places … Continue reading "Sonnet on the Beach"
the living intersect in resonant prisms crystalizing time into grandiose fragilities
what are these edges sharp and flat like all our choices? the last thought before the first time for many
a town like scattered pillows on a bed unmade until another noon