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Archive for April, 2011

afternoon

as a chill creeps over me
I watch the grass around grow dark
setting down my paper
twirling my pen
feeling the breeze
following the frisbees
eyeing the beauties
hearing the birds
watching the pond
rippling with wind
longing for heat
waiting for the cloud to pass

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lag haiku

forgot my duty
self imposed as it may be
better late than not

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talking-to

You do not have writer’s block.
Nothing is wrong with your desk.
Do the dishes if you like.
It will help to clear your mind,
Which is more cluttered than you think.
You are not starving for ideas.
The architect of excuses builds only prisons.
It will not feel good now,
But it will feel good later.
You will squirm during,
But you will be still after.
Enough already.
Stop procrastinating.

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breakfast in the garden

you touch your naked finger
looking to a far off place
where memories have dreams
they will write poems about someday

behind the blue stretched overhead
the moon looks down at you
her hunger knows no end
she pulls until your eyes are red

when you speak again at last
the weight of water
overcomes your benchpress lids
you offer up a sacrifice

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one way street

he hated goodbyes.
within them, he was at his best.
it would always be this way.
those who loved him
would love him most
in those moments
when he turned away.
in time, he learned to
wish himself farewell
in every moment.
later, when death came,
it held itself near,
revealing his breath
like a mirror.
he had never felt so close
to anything.

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growing pains

we are connected
but we don’t know how
we keep coming back to this
talking at each other
navigating common ground
crackling with faults
nearly giving way
you are brilliant and
I am sad for you

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downpour

this is the rain the city cries for.
all our sins are scraping their teeth
against the curb, fighting the flood,
fearing the gutter. i tilt my head
to taste the sky. wet and miserable
socks. once upon a time, these boots
were waterproof. what gives?

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serpentine

next time-
when your eyes find mine
atop the hardwood
between the bodies
within the bass
the gauntlet down
I will not stumble
will not sink
beneath my doubt
this body carries me

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-

did it drive us mad?
or were we driven only
by ourselves
that solemn statue
crafted by a hand unseen
and were we meant to picture
it as something sinister?
ever were we mercying
it was our right
to cryptify
and altogether
-

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puzzle

her lips curled-
some shape
or pattern
nothing in me
recognized.
rods and cones
wide open, pupils
darting clockwise
drawing in
the picture.
somewhere in
the nest of
neural gray
everything
was scrambled.

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