time for dirty hands (20161112)

time to get your hands dirty
time to get your knuckles bloody
time to snarl like a tiger
and leap coiled spring that you are
made so against your will

but really
this is the only fight worth
clenching your fist for
gritting your teeth for
we are all stars
let’s give them one hell
of a sunburn

Poem 20160414

an inverse
relationship–
as the space
between us two
has increased
we become less
less like friends, less like ourselves

a direct
relationship–
as the time
has decreased
of all our
conversations
the words themselves grow shorter

like a bird
it’s an event
when you move
my aim falters
you take flight
you disappear
and my field of view empties

——

the secret keeper
Weekly Writing Prompt #32
(5) Words: | SPACE | FRIEND | EVENT | MOVE | AIM |

(This week it’s a Whitney; hat tip to Doug at Elusive Trope for introducing me to this form.)

Poem 20160318

our hearts
beat out
the same
rhythm

but mistimed

as if i were from
the past
and you are here
in the present
and we see each other
as ghosts see the living
through a veil or a mist

or as if we boarded
the same train
felt the rattle of the rails
at the same crossings
sat in adjacent seats
my hand on the armrest
where you place your hand
me looking out the window
where you lean your head
fogging it with your breath
the same journey
but on different schedules
different timetables

Poem 20151126

everything can use a little editing
a gentle stroke of the pen
to make
what does come out
what should come out

–wait, i didn’t mean that–

would never be uttered again
because everything would be composed
pored over
marked up
submitted as galleys
and approved
before the words pass
carrying less weight
perhaps for the extended process

conversations would stretch
for days
and saying i love you
would take from the first glimpse
of morning sunlight
to when the full moon sinks below
the horizon

Poem 20151102

we shrink
like many things over time

the pudding in the fridge
receding gums
receding hairlines

so much retreating

no great tragedy
no funeral pyres being lit
no greek chorus explaining why

after so much being together
so much of each other
maybe that’s always
the case

we get smaller to each other
and the space around us expands
a universal condition

everything shrinks

the clay out of the kiln
the forged metal once it’s cooled

once the atoms slow down
and say to each other
–no need to rush

Poem 20150718

the clock ticks
erratically
and you wonder
–why won’t the damn thing
keep time
the way it’s supposed to–

one second after another
one minute after the next
not
long stretches where the minute hand
doesn’t move
or jerks suddenly so far ahead
that the hour hand is dragged
along in its wake
or actually
moves backward
an impossible dance step

but never far or
convincingly enough
to change a single letter
in this poem