the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Monday, December 15, 2014

1:06

It's the worst battles you come to fight on your own.
The ones that matter.
Here I wage on this losing bet,
Waiting for the seconds to start playing again,
But I couldn't even get the title track.

Sunday, December 14, 2014

An Iron Whisper

A silent smile cast late into the evening
As expected as the tide but compelling just as much.
You were welcomed with dull moonlight,
And warm white caps gently crashed on sifting sand.
Clear intentions mixed with dirty water to make reflections
But plot holes from empty bottles were everything but a message
Except for the blind grazes that guided this bottled ship along the shore,
Loud as an action and soft as a whisper
That rattled on fragile and fracturing glass.

Call it out for what it is:
I light my own fires on a sequin sea
While a nickel on tails closed parentheses.
From the touch of fabric to my lush fabrications
From the thunderous knocks to tautologous explanations,
With each sew that stabbed a stitch in my side
Was spun a peripheral thought to which I would not abide.
A dizzy lighthouse casts light now on each jagged point
To study the angles of complementary joints
Of how we had fit together on this wooden frame,
And disappeared into the fog of war.

What retreated as the flood moved forward
Was suddenly sunk in that same dull light
As a curious hand gestured towards the dark night.
You pulled it down slowly against long setting skies
Until each movement was submerged in whole,
A map to read with no compass rose,
A landlocked blues and a hollowed out hull.

You found mercy on the seafloor
And I would never see more,
Until your luminescence made your presence defined
As your climb to the surface coerced an enemy of time.
The vessel shuddered and moaned as the pressure pressed on
So I concede with held tongue/[end performance]/say my thanks...
And bow to the ocean and her faltering restraint.

Monday, November 24, 2014

Between Six and Eleven (Nickel on Tails)

This was the first time...
Thirty minutes on the dot,
The last of an ellipsis that spanned a single twirl
So delightfully careless and blurred in the darkness.
You walked me through every step,
Carefully dancing between fallen leaves
Keeping every blow above the knees,
And all that is fair game. Simple.
A little speckle, a little grain,
What was forgotten and remembered all the same
Was now pressed tightly against my cheekbone.
And with its release, it would fade to black,
And gravity would make its reconciliations,
But just for a moment, it was the moment:
An imprint on my hand that stuck like the winter
And the no good strength to make it considered.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Keep The Fire Burning, Forgetting It’s There

You told us it was basic
Concealed in obvious identities,
The monotonic melodies that
Called back those faces.
You faced me. You thanked me.

Light and mischievous like the quick
Touch of your chin and back.
It wasn’t much, in fact, it was too…
Much has put us in a set path too…
Fast for the past to catch up with,
Days late, but never turning back.

There once was a stage
That would never be repeated.
Siblings stayed family and formally greeted
Neither past, nor present, but in seconds flat.
I held you this fort,
Burned to hell and back.

A practice that I’ve detested—
A nip of playful aggression to
A light press against my neck,
Fingers clinging and curled
For a heart that I’ve protected,
Remind me that time’s a dance
Never waits, never sways
As I dip you into sunlight
A forward payment on investment

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Tiles

The ringleader spoke loudly, but walked without shoes,
Over glasses and tiles and red-white-and-blues
Every sentence illformed, but every meaning the same
We were delightfully volatile, but descriptively mundane.
It was something unsustainable and deviantly unattainable
When held up against our quickly diverging truths,
It was the soft pressing of urgency and random courage
Warm and emerging through the blind compass of youth.
It was something you never need to do, but did, and coined.
It was a subtle incision to get to the point:
This evening's disjointed,
And the color leaves this fabric in peace
"It's starting to get late now, and I think I should leave."

Monday, June 2, 2014

Sometimes

And as the words met with shoulders and fingers to touch,
A meaningless movement was moving too much
With none to gain, and turned to Lightness
Until the soft burn of politeness took pins to a cushion,
And conceded to see what would bleed through the paper.
Stained with her name was what in silence never tore,
But simply fell apart and had started just the same.
So tell me again, just tell me again
How it stuck to her skin, but would never append
Like the last note drawn out on a long slanted mirror.
I had cast my reflections to a radiating sea seeming clearer
And the condensate was diluted, but still potent and purer:
Sometimes we shout at walls hoping these echoes would stay,
But sometimes a concert in the rain is just a concert in the rain.