Flower Designs & Coffee Cups

Perched next to each other & on
Ambivalently with a studied gracefulness
That belies the intentions of the author,
Not just some randomness but legitimate purposefulness

In preparation for the suddenness of spring
The daffodils etched delicately, sunflower yellow
Dimples the edges with red dogwood accents. And the sun
Is coming through the door shining its approval

On these flower designed coffee mugs. Like it
is saying ‘Yes, you will do just nicely.’
‘Just nicely indeed.’


It’s Not All It’s Cracked Up To Be

There is a want, pounding,
You know it. Intangible
To the touch, gone when
In our grasp-
Say a prayer for me if I get it
Because I’ll most certainly lose it-
Anthologized in books
It sounds perfect,
Mystified in movies
It seems like completeness
-what we are missing is only
That which we cannot have
Until we can

Some days i drink myself drunk

Drunk on my own shambles-

Drunk on my own faults-

Perhaps what I cannot see
Is what I refuse to comprehend,

Because it’s easier to just

not. It’s easier to just let the

ache roll off me like waves

crashing into the coast-

So dear friend you’ve picked a doozy

Of a friend to have-

I understand if you’re wanting to escape-

I often wish to run into that same ocean

Let it swallow me whole-

Somewhere there exists some form of

happiness or success or some virtue-


Tell me a little lie.
I will spend a lifetime fighting
Your existence,
Fighting for another chance
To hear it because I like the lies
but I hate the truth opposite.

Perhaps they are not lies.

Perhaps you have told me

the truth that I’m having a hard time

accepting because accepting

yourself is one of the biggest challenges

there is-

That all this doing, running, busyness-
It’s to prove to myself I’m adequate enough,
Or secure enough-


So perhaps we are just in a holding place-

A spell before the break.

A winter continuous shall eventually give

way to spring,

The ice melting into gushing streams

giving life upon the frost bitten edges of

the soul.

Some years may pass before then.
Then all of the past will seem alien.
Like it was all a bad dream to remember
On the journey’s remainder.

So perhaps the journey is your own.

My own.

Separate paths of heartache,

Different times of belonging and drifting,

You know I want to take it with you?

Ah, but. I know some choices are not
as simple as they might seem. I know

Tell the others they are important too,

If you feel that way.

I would that you would wait with me,

My worst moments are when you are not.

My biggest injury is the absence of your truths

or lies-



a long rambling run on

sentence because the anxiety is hitting me squarely
in the chest like a two ton anvil but it only happens
when i think about you and how it’s all ending and
all my work and all my scheming and all my planning
and all my waiting has run its course somehow and i’m
not even sure what i did-which i suppose hurts the most
because you’re not responding like you used to and right
after we’d had such a pleasant day-and goodbyes suck
i mean really suck but you know there are worse
things than having to say goodbye but at the moment it’s
what’s hurting the most and nothing i do is getting rid
of it, but man do i feel alive, man i should enjoy those
moments of happiness more because who knows when it will


the past & its shadows

& of course the picture album
with its red cover and cellophane
pages with mismatched pictures
and photos of 1996 when we
were 3 & cute & of course our
parents have smiles on their faces


A Certain Kind of Loneliness

There is a certain Bible verse
That meets a certain change with
A certain calmness that belies
How dramatic it can be-To
every thing there is a season

This is an infallible proof. Only
the changing of the seasons is
needed as proof, and in the Midwest
we say that all seasons may come
today& it makes us feel
special because we enjoy feeling special
because after all we live in the Midwest
& all states try to lay claim that their
weather is the worst, omigawd one day the
weather did this-well no ours did that too

Yet this passage doesn’t explain the weather
Patterns as much as it does the patterns of life
It’s been a long time coming but sorrow
doesn’t stay that way forever I tell myself
this about love it too patterns itself after
the seasons. & Everyone seems to say theirs is the
best, or when it is gone that their pain is the worst
like the worst becky, omigawd, he meant so much to

Then it’s the lying awake until 3 A.m. because
it’s a time of hate, of loss, of casting away
of refraining to embrace & the season will change
one day.


4:08 PM

Our blotted fingers of
blood red and
white snow combine
a picture mottled
escapes us.

Pelo Rubio. Cheveaux blond.
Silky, shoulder length
tied up in a bun, fall down
fall down across the chair back
feeling soft smelling delicious
picking up and oh! beautiful

Thoughts of you have consumed
Like white blood cells attacking