May272012

Little Brother

These lovers and old friends,
left, cluttering your floor,
have an idle rustle that forms
a background din.

So you gathered them up,
threw them in,
and they watch from the waste-bin
as you grow up and past them. 

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May262012

Dailiness

The calm of a closed door,
settles into the room.
Slowly, the day’s leaves
and dust and twigs
settle to the floor beside the bed. 

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May252012

Untitled XII

You cannot see for milles here-
the sky calls up the earth
and she rises in fits and starts;
the leaves are shivering screams
trying to reach the stars.

Give me the silent desert
where even the rotting halts;
the sand, beaten down,
whispers, “I accept this.”

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May242012

Untitled XI

The child of your arrogance and my stupidity
sleeps beneath my skin, a child toying
with the basest parts of me, altering
the ATCG. This seed you gave me
is growing uncontrollably.  

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May232012

Erosion

Sometime ago you fell asleep,
wave-crashing breaths,
beating against my shores. 

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May222012

Clay Feet

Your clay feet 
(cracking with over-use,
with hurricane days of wave and wave and wave)
are eroding, dearest.

You’re getting yourself all over the floor.


 

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May212012

Into the Sun

I am done with the sterile
brightly-lit, unfurnished rooms,
with the white sheets,
and the taking away of my shoe-ties.

I will crawl to a place
of low-tide pools, of life,
and watch
as our part of the world
turns into the sun. 

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May202012

Untitled X

She let him know
she had weathered
high sea storms,

telling him,
“Once, I had been kept
in an aquarium.”

poem poetry writing daily writing daily poetry daily poem look I made a daily poetry Untitled X 

May192012

Definitions

In the church, a young woman stands next to her father,
greeting all the people who would not have recognized her
without the point of reference. 

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May182012

Bored Bird

News floats by on the bottom of the screen
in a language I wish I had taken the time to sing by now-

another failed rebellion against the tyrant
of this classically conditioned comfort,
somewhere deep in suburban America.

Somewhere past seas and olive groves,
they (they!) wage
real wars.

Do sea hawks, eagles,
sleep somewhere in my genetic code,
or have generations of physical peace
domesticated my (my) line?

I’m a bored bird in a gilded cage, crying out
to the mockingbirds past the window:
“I want you to be free!”

I will never know what it is to starve.




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