Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Love Boat 3/30


I have a love boat that’s built for two
Painted with the white of your eyes.
It’s cozy. Like sitting in an embrace
with arms of twine and trunk. Unpolished
like the lovely of you.

I ain’t no carpenter. Cant wood work
acceptance. Don’t know exactly how
to shape rustic into a haven.
Packed the bow with mud and twigs
and bits of beauty.

I give you ocean. The only way
I know how. In the bottom of a
wooden boat…Making our bed
On the peak of a wave.

Would you still have gotten in
if you knew there were no life
jackets for love...boats? Stop
searching for the shore.
I promise I won’t play the tippy
test with your heart.

Untitled 2/30

Sometimes I wish
caring was seasonal.
That I could pack away
the feeling that wells
up in my chest. Feels like
inhale before explosion.
Fold tears, like sweaters
into plastic bins.
Label cardboard boxes
of worn apologies
“for the salvation army.”
Won’t need to wear
remorse during the spring.
Cleaning my tongue
of dusty words
misplaced after the wrong
sentence went running
through the loose gate
of my mouth. Nonchalance
blossoming in my smirk.
Spitefulness collects like
Early morning dew
on my lips. But
an untamed mouth
is dangerous. And actions
that go unconsidered
are deadly to the conscience
Reconciliation always satisfies
when ripe and pressing
against the odds.
I can’t imagine
a handful of months
waiting impatiently
for fields of red
and purple horizons
that come from
making up
just before

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Departure 1/30


We said goodbye in an empty dining room
The chairs yoked up to the table
Every place set. Candle's lit
by street-light. The air two shades away
from black. I've always loved the way your face
looks in the dark. Like an abstract painting.
I appreciate the depth of your brow.
The symmetry in your smile. The way your
eye color changes into a different hue
of divinity from different perspectives.

A nervous stare lingered between us.
I slipped your glow under my eyelid, like a keepsake
under a pillow. The goblins living in the chandelier
watched as I struggled through the letters in g o o d b y e
No one has seen me cry before. I don't like being
so human in public. But I cried
in a silent slow burning whimper.

Felt you leave from my fingertips. I stood
in the window. Wiping my tears with veil-like
curtains. Thin and transparent. I wonder
if you looked back. If you blew me a kiss.

Three days later I wrote you a love letter.
You said it smelled like me
and 200 miles worth of I miss you
You declared my handwriting insecure
I could say nothing, except,
"You made me human. Now Love me this way."

Friday, October 16, 2009

breaking out

....of my shell that is.
trying something new.
czech it.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Wet Pavement

New York City, with all of its garbage, noise, people, stench, and concrete has somehow become the envy of the world. This is the Mecca and womb for artistic souls and intellectuals alike. New York City is the place where people come to leave their mark on the world. And although I love this asphalt asylum of genius and misfortune, New York is the wrong place to leave your footprint. The pavement just doesn’t have time to entertain your audition to be eternal on earth.

New York City is a gridiron skeleton with a concrete foundation. Yellow brick roads lead you home; gray pavement leads you to the future. Exactly where are they trying to “make it” to? Many of those people who come to my fair city are not necessarily taking “the road less traveled,” because in fact the streets of New York are standing room only. It makes a lot of sense that people would come here to make their Journey. After all, pavement can be traveled on no matter what the weather conditions, unlike dirt roads where you can get stuck in the mud. Or ice, a shallow veil of water that has no concern for what’s above the surface, will swallow you whole if you misstep.

Only something man-made, only the concrete shoulders of God can bear the weight of a people looking to make an impact, whether it is on their lives or that of someone else. Just don’t expect the pavement to give you a space for your footsteps. Don’t try to look back and see the trail of exactly how you reached the end of the road. And if you see wet cement, don’t step over the yellow tape and plant your feet in freshly poured concrete. Too many of us focus on finding a spot to leave our mark forever and get stuck while everyone else is moving on. Footprints are overrated, people shouldn't follow each other, just their hearts and they’ll be where they’re supposed to be in the end.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

No Labels

As we move through the time and space continuum of life we touch, bump, or “crash” into other people. We create relationships by stitching together the fabric of our past and present and leaving space to sew in our future.

Many people have brought together the patchwork of their lives in their relationships. Their love has become a beautiful garment, with quality material and solid construction. Why is it that an innumerable amount of people can’t bring themselves to be content in a relationship without the labels? Is it possible that people can only find the value in a love that is tagged and validated? Why must we all grapple for the safety of labels? Literally speaking, many people will pay twice the amount of a regular piece of clothing for one that has a designer label. Now yes, there is a difference between a $40 blouse and a $150 blouse. But at a certain point we are just paying for the name.

Why should I give another person the authority to name a connection I have with someone else? It is unnecessary to label yourself, girlfriend and boyfriend, wifey and hubby, husband and wife or even “partners.” We are too caught up in making a relationship “official.” Why is this? Must we label ourselves so that the ‘we’ can be identified by outsiders? It is the people who are in the relationship that have to define what it is and where it’s going. The label-less dress can be just as beautiful as the Vera Wang. So don’t rush to stitch on a label to the inside of your relationship; it just might ruin the fabric.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

De La Soul


I'll never be able to explain my sneaker fetish.
I'm growing out of it.
But a good pair of dunks are so...expressive.
The way they're worn in.
Worn down at the heel.
Tells you where I've been.
or hints at it a little. ;)

On the down side,
Nike has not had any good original releases.
Everything is too overworked.
Or just plain, Wiggity WACK.

What a shame.