Category: stream of consciousness

• what Sunday night feels like

  like the slow
  melt of muscles into bed
  first shivering
  then slowly
  toes on up
  warming, letting go

  March 8, 2011

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• the couch (haiku)

  soft leather, pillows
  reach, wrap, magically take me
  as their own – day ends.

  March 6, 2011

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• view from an airplane

  What causes us to
  Rush?
  Whole lives spent harried, hurried,
  I too have always felt
  Rushed
  To get to this point yet
  I’m not old enough yet
  To understand why
  Look at the cars in traffic
  Snaking their way to and from
  In a steady stream
  Rushing, rushing
  Unaware of this view.

  February 28, 2011

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• like climbing vines of ivy

  long graceful fingers
  naked
  and growing like ivy
  up pale cheekbones
  leaving only the eyes
  intent

  do you ever
  look in the mirror
  and feel that fear –
  climbing vine of panic
  choking

  which hands are real?
  the longer you stare
  the more those leaves of
  nerves pressing
  belong to someone else
  the more those eyes
  grow sparkling in wicked
  suspicion.

  February 26, 2011

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• what it feels to repeat over and over

  repetition has a certain pathetic
  ring
  and an affinity
  for short panicked breaths
  tightening chest
  then a
  fistful of hair pulled
  desperate.

  if i told you
  all these things
  i was lying
  if i told you
  i was affected
  lying too.

  repetition that
  two-faced vilian.
  practice makes perfect
  and this…
  this…
  a tick burrowing in.

  February 23, 2011

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• house mouse type of heart

  dull grey
  house mouse
  type of
  heart
  afraid of shadows
  and every
  spark.

  oh heart
  why don’t
  you know,
  not every cheese
  a trap
  not every look
  a rat.

  February 18, 2011

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• watching (haiku)

  i’m watching a man
  watching a squirrel but who
  is watching me now?

  February 8, 2011

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• the lack of

  the lack of ______
  the quiet ache of missing
  the empty white space
  these are just as important
  as the have, the hold
  the in the flesh.

  author’s note… it seems fitting that i find this poem to be completely unfinished.

  February 3, 2011

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• what it feels to lose you

  silent as a winter night
  we
  smolder into ash and dust

  where we used to sit beneath maples
  lips on neck
  the pressure of a pulse extinguished

  January 3, 2011

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• montford bar at Christmas

  i think it’s James Taylor
  and three or so quiet men
  drinking whiskey, and the
  bartender
  quietly
  plugs in
  the lights.

  December 22, 2010

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