I Am Crying & I Do Not Know Why

Upon further examination,
Coming to my wits’ end, which I must confess

Is limited. Like the tail end of a cut off rope,
Frayed after some time-

Unable to be measured like my hand size.
Nevertheless there, and unmeasurable.

Do I suppose that other’s have a tendency to be more brave,
While I compost on the edge of timidity and boldness?

I am sitting at lunch with a beautiful friend. I have
Run out of words,

I have run out of choreographed sayings, & run out
Of carefully rehearsed reactions.

I have stopped being the Dos Equis man,
I have let the mask slip,

I have now the voices of disappointment ringing
Because I cannot make up some word, some story, some event

To dissipate the quiet gulf before us. Is it just a bad day?
Bad days are common, right?

They come and they go, and I will be better.
If only the days weren’t so cold



Safe inside the belly of the beast,
Underwater, Swallowed as I went overboard,
Leviathan finding me utterly snack-able,
Doesn’t know my spirit. Safe I am
from the prying eyes of my captors
who search for my body, my mind more,
my spirit the most. Believe in my
future, vapid, sanctity in this inter
sanctuary, momentarily I will wake up.
Fish and their fins, the krill come
pouring into this uncharted fellow,
Trusting that they will be safe in
their anonymity, trusting some fearless
leader and down into the hatchet they go,
Unsafe. The food chain continues, I
spit upon the land, I not yet consumed.

The Dumpster Fire & the Feelings Within

The blue sky, valley harbor, cold grey water
Filled, heartbreak city, pumping sin
Kiss me
Grey sky, acid rain
Empty Starbucks, empty white cups
Empty liquid
Pour out pour out
Pour out sweat stains seeping
Long walks down apartment hallways
Back cement
Strewn grass
Go down to the bottomless
shimmering lake
Up top
Murkiness, murkiness
Go down
So clear, bright light, pull up
Heavy towel
Can’t breathe
Toss it all in the orange flame
By the harbor
Filled with water
Resurrect me
I’m dead so suddenly inside
oh, so suddenly

You Mean You Don’t Weep in the Car on Sunday’s?

there’s a saying that goes like this-the days are long the years are short-
and finally there’s some alone time because the days are-

it has to be the weather. the spring time, the intermittent cold blasts of days so i’m not sure weather to wear a coat, a jacket, or nothing at all
because the day will turn warm and the morning will turn cold and the days keep churning, shuddering. a train stopping in the station.

my parents gray hair has been there for a while. i remind myself: family
only comes once.

whole week chasing. chasing errands, emails, little squiggly lines on paper telling me what’s next, ding ding, email, paper, school, work, bed, repeat does it matter ding ding, email, paper, school, work, bed, repeat

is this how your life is?-the car is humming, sudden stop, sudden realization & trembling tears fall down into my suit pants, so close too goodbye

i grip the steering while tightly until reality comes back into focus-whitening knuckles, quick blinking, letting go in hoping to find my way back.

Daily Ritual

Friday’s are days for getting paid &
Saturday’s are for spending time with friends &
Sunday’s are for relaxation in church &
Monday’s are for grumbling about the short weekend &
Tuesday’s are a slow grind to finish the day &
Wednesday’s are the day’s you try to forget
Because it’s Valentine’s Day &
Something has happened &
Tragic doesn’t do justice the horror &
Thursday’s are for contemplating the weekend &
Contemplating the value of your life &
Reading the statistics of gun shootings &
Homicide rates &
Suicides &
Crying &
How many mother’s gave birth to potential &
How many father’s will sit at their children’s graves &
How many people will have their lives ended early &
How many will have done something worthwhile &
How many will heed the warning &
Are the days numbered &
Are we unaware of it &
Friday’s are days for getting paid &
Saturday’s are for spending time with friends

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.’