everyone else’s dreams are boring (20180110)


in the dream you have
eyes made of full moons
and glossy lips

in daylight
and under fluorescents
your skin wrinkles where
youth has flattened out
on a face already carved
into planes and
where the skin has stretched
from too much
self-imposed forced smiling

you lean forward
–the kiss clumsy–
though your mouth looks wet
i feel every line
every dry crack
in your lips
they compress against my own
the softness gone
like air from a deflated balloon

the dream doesn’t let
me taste you
dream-me thinks
ah, you are getting older


hat tip to C of Optional Poetry, and this poem in particular

Poem 20150406

Today’s poetic challenge from #NaPoWriMo is an aubade. Aubade are kind of the opposites of a serenade, which is a poem or a song meant to be sung at night. The aubade is all about the morning. And I have never written one before. So. Here it is.



the sun comes up like he does
and the alarm goes off like it does
and the cat walks over my head
because she wants to eat like she does
and the dog whines
because he wants to eat and go outside like he does


you roll over away from me
ready to head into the day
ready to exchange the warmth of the bed
for the warmth of a cup of coffee
ready to get dressed while i’m stuck, flat on my back
checking my phone
sneaking glances at you while you
put on make-up
put on your clothes
listening to you
sing whatever song you woke up with in your head on a loop
and finally when i hear you
hit the coffee machine
i finally drag myself out of bed


outside the sun barely is up and hidden behind early clouds
but the hummingbirds already swarm the feeder
four, sometimes five at a time
and somewhere the phoebe is singing
and today the squirrel doesn’t threaten us
from the safety of his tree
no shaking of his tail or angry chittering
just the usual avoiding of other dogs’ offerings
while we perform this morning ritual
even though the dog has a back yard
he prefers to walk on a leash


we drive together
NPR providing the background noise
laughing at the amusing disgusting juvenile
wifi network names that pop up as we
pause at intersections
plenty of college freshman
laughing at their own jokes about
“your mom,” pulling out, or vague threats
about stealing their wifi


in the parking lot
you grab your stuff
and there’s a quick quartet of kisses
and you surprise me with the last one
and the sun is finally breaking through
the clouds
as i drive toward work

Poem 20150218


it’s a game we can play

tell me where it hurts, i say

everywhere, you say

then there’s only one cure, i say

amputation? you ask euthanasia?

let me start, i say,
by taking your hand

my hands are cold, you say
why are yours so warm?

i turn your hand over
revealing the wrist
i touch it with my index finger
below the thumb, avoiding the tendons
feeling for your pulse

i need a more sensitive instrument, i say

i raise your hand
press my lips against your skin
and i feel your pulse
beating so hard
it pounds in my own chest

i think you’re going to make it, i say