MosaicWhen we write poetry,we create a mosaic;a collection of our life's piecesassembled and cementedinto something satisfying.But the praise means littlewhen the reader hasn't seenall the things we had to have broken.
Let's go have a smokeThe American SpiritWe walk in the middle of the street. It's empty. It's 8:30, the streetlights are on. We both have cigarettes, and I'm holding a banana. Buy coke.MeowIs that cat missing a paw? No, it's just the shadow. We walk on into the night.Untitled"Any coke left?""No."Edit: The last few drops rattling in the can. I left the banana peel a few blocks back.Parking LotEnter: Kid on bicycle, holding a black bag.His bike is noisy. He spits.Exit: Loser;Exit: Us.I'll titled this one Parking Lot.** Steven thinks I should title it "You don't know me".Fin -door opens-
Pipedream JungleOlder now, venture backinto the pipedream Jungleof my childhood
A year nowA year now,I'm still waiting for your call.A year now,I'm beginning to thinkthe labyrinth is all dead ends.A year now,I search for youin phonebooks and obituaries.A year now,I see you everywherein anonymous faces.A year now,so many girls that aren't youbut, unrealistically, could be.A year now,going out, torturing myselfbecause it's the closest I can getto being near you.Lonely weeks, frustrating months,a year now,I'm still waiting for your call.
AnotherAnother morning measured by the sun's first hints.I crave sleep,but the body refuses.It wants, demands something else.Another day blue skies agitating me through my windows.Screaming child, television sets,I find a few hours of broken rest.They're not the reason for the severed dreams.Another evening the darkening, dimming world.My second wind,a waft of sustenance and caffeine.Filling some needs, ignoring others.Another night darkness and silence again.They're all asleep,leaving me alone with my thoughts.You're still my game of pretend.Another morning,another cycle -waiting for you.
Cafe xDeceived by mycappuccino, myfrench cigarette, myonly indication of the coldin the dark morningis my breath's visibilityTaking my lastsip, my lastpuff, the lastremnants burn in the ashtrayand I kill the emberturning bright red into grey ash.
Pie + Lollipops :equals: Bootcars go bylollipops and piecigarette's and smokeemotionally brokeunloved, unkissed(Steven is my typistwith a mechanical pencil)drawing love with a stencilof you
UnfinishedWhen I remember you,the world's fresh poetic essence deserts me,while recurring verses are carvedlike an epitaph onto my soul.Your book lies open,the cover uncloseable,the pages unturnable,so I reread continuouslythe unfinished passagewhere we stopped writing.When you left,it was so sudden that...you never said goodbye.
Naked Man -preview-The ground was still moist from the harsh rain that had hardly just died away, the cold, wet cement stinging the soles of my feet and ripping at the skin on my toes. As I splashed through an unavoidable puddle collected in a dip in the sidewalk, the water reached as high as my thighs, exposing my legs more intensely to the element, the perpetual breeze intensified by my running. I searched as I moved for any cover for my indecency, for even the most humble clothes; a soaked, abandoned blanket, a fallen leafy branch. My environment proved unaccommodating, while the amorphous light purple blotches above looked eager to drench me with a downpour at any whim. With darkness as my only veil and my only friend, I continued, knowing that though every footstep was another into my current situation, it was another leg-length from my previous one.