Little Bits
The Heart
This morning the sun highlighted
the heart of a single tree.
What We Want
You want to believe that
I love you as much as
you need me to,
and
I want to know that
you need me to
love you as much as
I believe you do.
Sometimes
Sometimes admitting that I miss you
makes me despise the way that
my teeth taste,
and sometimes life
is so good that I want
to chew the sky.
Bargaining
What kind of man
begs God to strip his child
of pain,
even if it must be born
by himself,
in some way,
in some bargain, but
what kind of a man doesn’t?
What kind of God
considers the deal but
balks, or doesn’t even
bother to haggle?
Capitulate Spy
I feel like a double agent
and I’ve forgotten which
side I believe in;
a real dilemma, now
that the war is ending.
When it’s over I’ll
pick a side.
Sugar Beets
You don’t know the
anticipation of love
until you’ve skinned
a sugar beet.
Anticipatory Pests
Anticipation is a butterfly
with razor-blade wings,
flitting in between spaces
typically embraced by my
togetherness;
persisting as busy millipedes
with tin taps for feet,
rummaging about the rungs of
my readily erect spine;
Mice chasing peanuts
falling around the inner workings
of my circadian clock;
Pests, these damned thoughts.
Nicked
I was standing in front of fogged glass
when you flashed through my mind;
I couldn’t tell if the damned thought
was good or bad.
I guess I jabbed too hard at it
because it bled.
Being Good
I am such a good person
when I’m thinking of you.
Hiding Precious Things
Writing poetry in the dark
is like hiding pearls
in the snow.
Quiet As It’s Kept
Some of my best words
have been
written in silence.
Love Letters
Once written, random
thoughts are
love letters to
the ones who care
to know you.
A Pretty Penny
If I could toss a penny
in this bucket
for every thought I have
of you
I’d probably still be poor
and homeless
but I’d have one hell-of-a
strong assed back.
Munchies
One day I think we should
sit down on the kitchen floor
together,
and smoke a joint, maybe two,
eat a ridiculous amount of bullshit,
giggle our asses off,
and cry about it.
The Grin
Oh, the grin?
That’s because loving you
isn’t as much a benevolent act
as they think it is.
On Bullying
Even a stink bug
seems defenseless
until it’s crushed.
Night Sprints
I awaken while rhyming in my sleep
and I rush to put
this in ink because I’m afraid
that I’ve missed what they call
in French, mots;
all the best parts left in the pot
until my words attack the paper,
assaulting these lines
like the soles of track shoes
punching holes in parchment pavement
and my mind glides to the finish line,
breathless.
