From snow, some strong leaves
would not fall. For new buds though,
the strongest will leap.
Tag: writing
Plus-One
I know about happiness; we’ve met.
We just don’t get alone time—
anxiety’s name is , but. I don’t do simple sentences.
I know anxiety so well that I don’t have to see its face—
no matter how fast I spin, it’s always a hair’s breadth from my sight.
But I know it’s there. It breathes down the right side of my neck.
It’s got a chokehold. And trust me—when you’re that intimate with somebody else,Read More »
Clouds
I look to the sky, seeing nitrogen, oxygen,
argon, water, and light.
“The biggest white mass,” you ask,
“What do you see it as?”
To me, it seems a pirate ship.
To you, it seems a house.
We have on our hands: a person,
another,
a difference, and each of these three
is pretty.
But you look to the sky, seeing rock, clay,Read More »
I wanted to go.
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 »
Maelstrom
It’s not in the cliché way
you smile, say Dad and Mom “stayed home”.
It’s the picturesque shot of you
walking into church alone.Read More »
Wolf
I gaze at her
with my blue eyes singing
everything
I’ve never thought.
My eyes are inhaling,
and how they manageRead More »
On Epilepsy and Company Names
I’m into definitions today,
because I couldn’t have spelled out before
how tonic involves emotional connotations
of certain notes combined,Read More »
Crossroads
My crossroads were a metaphor,
because where was I when I realized the road before me forked?
In the reclining chair,
painting the epistemic situation in the distinctive shades
of sand, sun, and tumbleweeds- nothing but dust and wind on either
side as far as eye could see. And how was I to choose between,
and win or lose or even move?
But that’s the thing about crossroads. You never paint their metaphor
if you find sitting still an option.
It would be a third path, and you would plow on. So,
pressure. Tick, tock.
But my crossroads were a metaphor! I finally realized,Read More »
Sanity
We all stand
on the same polka dotted mat.
You stomp the colored spots
like they’re disco-balls. You’re effortless,
the game’s commands flowing through
your veins. Your instinct: Graceful dance.
I start
with the center,
but one spot cannot hold two limbs!
So all that comes next
is a jumble-Read More »
On the Possibility of Crossing Paths with a Distant, Lost Mug
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?
Alphabet Ravine 