My teacher says that when you break a cup
it's best to think of it as having been
a broken thing before you picked it up.
Illusory, the wholeness it was in.
Beneath the metal's sheen was always rust;
the dream was dead the moment it was born.
The stars were never more than colored dust,
my feelings for you never more than torn.
It hits me as I see that you are calling:
you see rose where I see petals falling
Friday, February 21, 2014
Monday, February 10, 2014
Indecision Cycle: poem 1
what I do know
is that that sh
irt sitting on top of
those other shirts
needs to be just sl
ightly farther
to the left and
just slightly farther
back toward the--
back of the closet
it feels so much
righter there
especially after I
pat it three times
with the tips
of two fingers
actually,
four times
actually five
is that that sh
irt sitting on top of
those other shirts
needs to be just sl
ightly farther
to the left and
just slightly farther
back toward the--
back of the closet
it feels so much
righter there
especially after I
pat it three times
with the tips
of two fingers
actually,
four times
actually five
Labels:
Poems
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Tomorrow
If I were not me I'd be sleeping now
but me I am and so awake I stay.
My slowing thoughts bespeak the undertow
that pulls to bed and then another day,
but I drift aimless high above its reach;
my mind befuzzed does not react to sense,
and I'm more like to swim right back to beach
than give my soul and body recompense.
And so the tide I know I should pursue
recedes without me every night anew.
but me I am and so awake I stay.
My slowing thoughts bespeak the undertow
that pulls to bed and then another day,
but I drift aimless high above its reach;
my mind befuzzed does not react to sense,
and I'm more like to swim right back to beach
than give my soul and body recompense.
And so the tide I know I should pursue
recedes without me every night anew.
Labels:
Poems
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