Love is a jerk,
a cruel-hearted beast
with a gap-toothed grin
and a cigarette.
Tossing his arm around your shoulder-
the friendliest bloke on the block,
don’t you know-
he opens his jacket to get you to try things
that you’d never dare
if ol’ love were not there.
You follow him home for his company;
He locks you in his house
as he leaves.
ride a little pony into town
ride a little pony-
you fell down
No longer two but twenty-two,
no longer atop my grandpa’s knees but straddling a tight rope,
no longer slipping between his legs-Read More »
Jern wanted to see the heart
I’d locked inside a drawer.
I fished in all my pockets but couldn’t
talk to Jern anymore.
Hopes are heavy. That’s why we say that we get them up.
And I know that it seems easy,
but adrenaline rises in a rush
to transfer energy and perpetuate movement
when you’re faced with something grand enough
to be worth lifting hopes.Read More »
If you had asked the reason, I’d have said,
“Why, because!” for I did not know, but I was not
wrong. Surely the black sky with the city lights
in the grey towers were there, calling to me.
Where? Why, in Japan! I knew becauseRead More »
It’s not in the cliché way
you smile, say Chris and Mom “stayed home”.
It’s the picturesque shot of you
walking into church alone.Read More »
Once the travel mug tired of journeying at last
and couldn’t even stand to take the paved road home,
Dave lost the dear friend in all its specificities.
But stomp its foot and huff its breath all it wants,
I don’t think that it will stay stagnant long.
Things roll, people shove, and you never have much say
in where you end up, which is not all bad, because
wasn’t the travel mug made to sojourn?
And aren’t our crimes against ourselves along with the rest,
until our selves break or break out into light?