Ti(d)e

there is sustenance in the wind;
though you left
(your whole world)
shuttered & dank,
it still
feeds the storm —
b(r)e(w)ing.

Jiminy Cricket

and there you are, churning the soft earth
where we buried you
with all the dignity
we could muster

Jiminy Cricket wore your shoes for a while,
but your footsteps were too hard to follow —
so he missed a step &
got back on track,
for better or worse

I am sorry you are still lost —
but there is nothing left to say
when all the answers
are ash & bone
& broken, too.

Colorblind

a cardboard-boxed wish,
labeled ‘undaunted’,
next to blood-red pumps,
long faded to rust (& ruin)

the old days —
when her heart still thundered
& the tip of her tongue
suffered no regrets

now
she wonders
if her lips
ever tasted like him.

___________________________
… based on the poem Escapade

|In|sanity

a thin, red line hides |in|sanity —
just to paper-cut those strands of hope
when you stray too far.

never will you notice
the sharp sting of heartbreak
when you are used to the shards

& the echo of your footsteps
will not seem less hollow
on this side of the story.

– cavity –

Far Off Shore

I remember when
the first words out of my mouth
were not infested by
meandering termites &
my tongue still
felt alive

I remember when
fortune was not just
a four letter word —
but a one way ticket
to favored utopia

I remember when
there was still
laughter in the rain &
my hand did not stray from
touching yours.

– age –

A(path)y

all his qualities came
in varieties of neon black;
neatly folded
into the creases of her exuberance.
her smile faltered
on the morning of their third year
& when push came to shove,
she shoved.

– black –

Sepia

night falls, thickly
with a taste of tangy orange
that masks the lump in my throat
while I think about
saying goodbye to you, predestined,
in the early hours of morning

discomfort slouches at the back of my neck
& I tap my nails on those angular customs
as I see myself squirm in this crammed space —
You and Me were all sepia smiles &
so much more than worn wooden benches

I will keep our moments
in a pudding cup,
squeeze them joyfully
a little too hard
& still raise your voice
long after the silence.

(Brainf)artistry

there is nowhere left to go
as I see your colorless fortitude
fade to crumpled bones and worn edges —
leaving you bare & stripped of
all those wonders you wore
like everyday clothing

& Instinct
uproots congeniality – while I
remain guessing at
whatever the fuck you said
in that certain moment
when longing turned to resignation.

may those presumptions crumble
and turn doubt to dust,
never to be cradled again.

No Strings Attached

it is fairly easy
to lose an old shoe
while you force yourself
to run on unfamiliar tracks

& if the pace you chose
leaves you limping,
you are left with
longing for your old, abandoned shoe
and a wet, muddy sock.

Into The Gray

she shivers in the rain —
watches fragments of a promise
turn to asphalt tears
& swirl away to mingle with secrets
far beyond her grasp

she shivers in the rain —
while stoic words of an outcast
drip from her lips &
her tongue savors the sharp edges
of those foreign sounds
that taste like braille

time trips over itself
as she traces
the seams of quilted past
soon to be ripped once more
& all the while
she shivers in the rain.