the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Monday, February 25, 2013

The Feeling of Being Saved

Red wine stained your teeth
So often never seen at this time of night,
As every thought rested atop your heard
And buried into your chest.
Cold rain pressed against the window pane
And slid down tired to meet the teary earth
That you fixed your gaze upon.
Mallets were heartbeats that tapped
Shy chords in your shackled throat,
Never a word so softly spoken
Never a home so slowly broken.
And when it pressed on, she took off
Showing a world left in between us
And each other's lives to pull apart.

Friday, February 8, 2013


You were a wish fulfilled that I still tried to redeem.
My heart was pressed against the glass,
Arrested by flashing lights and frozen ground
As you laid your landscape atop feathered ice
And I mapped our stories on a childish gamble.
Piercing eyes made muscles relax around what had been grasped,
And how I spoke too softly when I should have left quietly
To let sunlight scatter across inviting desert oceans.
Verbal contact became the underlining of gentle rays
That made sullen snowflakes jewel beneath a dying sun.
But amongst your fervent colors adorned in modesty
It melted all too quickly into studies of case,
Into uncapturable beauty and effervescent grace,
How sweet the sound,
How sweet the sound.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Letting Go A Bird In Hand

It took 6,000 lies for a tinny truth,
Then covered in silk and understood.
And my lips bent a crease in those words you wrote
That similar sleep in the sentences you spoke,
Faint reflections on clear waterfalls
Dissolved into crystals buried deep in time
Older than the Holocene,
And every stage that did precede,
Older than the trinity
That put divinity into the oldest waters,
Once murky from untold time;
Its remnants now fermented into blood red wine,
Like the last drop down a red clay ravine
Whose glassy bed had been tested and broken,
Seven years it seems.
In any luck - a silent dream, versed and free.
Hidden in eternity,
For every stream gets lost at sea,

Friday, February 1, 2013

What We Were Here For

It takes two to five minutes to make my presence known.
It takes a floor of five cynics to make us all feel old
When a lighted touch illuminated the walkways,
And I was high on your scent drawn so far from home.
A cigarette dragged until the orange embers glowed
Boots pressed against the angels that were left in dirty snow.
We were two birds in the same cage.
I was watered-down whiskey and watered-down wit,
Giving my praises, but not giving a shit.
Because it takes twenty five minutes to make the walk home
But only five minutes to hide what I had shown.
You can halve our final hours and wish you hadn't grown,
Or you can have these final hours, because they are your own.