Cracking Knuckles

Cracking knuckles


sliding hands across
bare skin
you can see
im barely breathing.
I couldn’t get an intake
of breath
you robbed me of that
when you entered the
room so dramically
quite aware you were
putting on airs.


Everything ive ever wanted to
Ask you flew out the window
With my words
And my courage.
Everything in my head
Is streaming across a marquee
In uppercase letters
But the light’s gone out
And I cant seem to read
Anything on the screen.

God and Coltrane

I found God the other day.
Saw him in the music isle between country and rock and roll.
I found God in the music, through the notes.
Almost missed him in the tempo change.
My pulse beat right in time with the staccato of Coltrane
From the loud speakers.
I should have known he’d be a jazz man.

Blush

I’ve been holding onto the something between us that defines us,
Makes us blush.
Makes us real.
What if I let it go?
Where would it go if I released my grip?

Our identities are tied up in “things”
What we do is what defines us
What happened to what we stood for
Defining us?

I just wanted to get one thing straight:
What is it that defines you?
Because it’s not me,
Not anymore.

Fireflies

An old romance grows stale
In the hills above Hollywood
The relationship fails.
Dancing on hard wood floors.
He’d make her blush,
His words hit a vein.
She’d start to stammer,
Whisper to hush
They were on the same plane
Of thought—fireflies
In the night, blinking lights on the inter-state
Trying to find their way home,
She’d sigh, reminisce.
Our storm no longer insulates.
Fireflies in a losing battle
Of inner fire.

I could make a pretty poem

I could make a pretty poem
And mold it into something
With line breaks
And stanzas

Maybe it would win prizes
And be misunderstood
It would have to have a clever
Rhyme scheme

It would be about real life
But with a twist
Maybe about me drinking my
Morning coffee and reaching an
Epiphany through the swirls
Of mocha in my mug

Oh, it would have alliteration and
Maybe some consonance. I could throw
Some big words in for good measure
Like “narcolepsy” and “prescription pills”

Maybe the latter is what I was on when
I ever decided to write a pretty poem
With line breaks
And stanzas
And complicated rhyme scheme.

righteously

Walking away was the hardest path
But, always, my path led right back to you
Farthest I got was around the block
I turned around not knowing what to do.

Lightning lit up the walkway
Rain poured down from the Alaskan skies
Thunder stormed our paths
But in the end it was you and I.

You and I
It seems to be
You and I--
Righteously.

Knowing time is ticking
I cannot watch the clock turn
I took it down off the wall
Afraid of holes it would burn

Into our already fragile time.
But your secret smile makes me forget
That now is passing to then
Knowing we will leave without regret.

You and I
It seems to be
You and I--
Righteously.

Today turns into tomorrow,
As the present cannot last
But it leaves a sadness behind
Soon today will memory’s past.

Tonight, tonight, I can hold you in my arms
Time will stop tonight or at least slow down
We can keep life at bay here in your bed
Tonight, tonight, time will stop, time will slow down.

You and I
It seems to be
You and I--
Righteously.

Temporary

This back and forth is making me sick.
I can’t sleep--lest I wake up and find you gone again.
I could’ve sworn you were right next to me.
Falling in love felt like a test of wills.
Mine against yours.
Who could hold out longer?
Lying next to you felt like I was lying to you, and you know I’ve never been good at lies. I’ve been frantically trying to finish the words I am writing for you,
there’s always one that doesn’t fit the rhyme.
Trying to force the mold only works for a short time.
You did a number on me, like I knew you would.
Could I fault you for something you told me in advance?
I guess I tried to forget what you had said.
You let me in only to close the door on me, one foot in.
Watching your “High Art” unfold across the screen made me think I could never be that for you.
You told me “temporary, temporary”,
But made this feel real.

Give me shelter

I watch my tea steep
It gets darker and turns the
Water into something else
Entirely.

I am glad for my time
Working in the Shelter.
Knowing that my time
Here means change.

Not just change for the
Women enduring abuse,
But change for me to
Have seen this "life".

My life has changed,
Fluid, turned from one
Image to another.
Not unlike my tea.

My tea tastes like hope
The colors of change.