The Descent

The sky was a puzzle today
with all the pieces clouds
not quite connected
but looking as if they might
as if there was a chance
they'd get put back together
and those soft edges would disappear
those painter's brush-strokes
blurring into a seamless whole

I wonder sometimes
about skies like this
about how they fit
in this world of puzzles
where connections run rampant
but only connect
when some heavenly motion
pushes them into each other
pushes them through each other
till they are transformed
and descend

The Let Go

I've been strangling myself with what ifs

but you won't find any marks on my neck

because questions don't leave marks

They slip into the body through osmosis
because they're fluid like water
and like water they can wear anything down

I've been seeking answers as antidotes
but alchemy abides by a law of equivalents
and I can only exchange more questions

That's the very nature of a circle
it has no clear beginning or ending
but that has never stopped it from existing

I've been learning the beauty of letting go
that's the only real answer I've found
to these questions I never wanted to ask

A Day at the Beach

I've got sand in my veins

and I pump glass

with the muscles

of my heart

it makes me breakable

with sticks and stones

it makes me breakable

but even broken

I can reflect

the light of the sun

I've got sand in my veins

and I build sandcastles

behind my eyes

so when I cry

it's like the ocean

is washing away my work

it's like the ocean

has come to remind me

that all castles

are made of sand

I've got sand in my veins

and I bleed time

like a broken hourglass

only it's not so bad

because I'm self-perpetuating

and can turn myself around

because I'm self-perpetuating

but know enough to know

I wasn't made

to last forever

Haircutters: A Lust Story

I get my haircut every three months or so

and if you're a poetic type

you might call my sensibility seasonal

but if you're a haircutter

there's not as much poetry

just clean lines and the same old story

a bunch of fools in lust

with the feel of your hands

as they try to staunch the flow of time

turn back the inevitability of hair growth

and spin your silver into gold

and your gold into fuchsia

because their philosopher's stone

came from Hot Topic

and it has powers that leave alchemists

scratching their bald heads

heads that think they're so smart

they've outgrown the need for hair

and that might be true

but they haven't outgrown

the need for haircutters

for this subset of the human species

with purple streaks in its hair

that asks you existential questions

about how you want to look

and who you want to be

and expects you to know the answers

because they've got it figured out

and even if they don't

they're always ready to change

to shave it all off

and grow into something new

Love Quadrangle

Love is a point

an answer to a question

we didn't want to ask

but found leaving our lips

like do you

or could you

and what if I do

because the question

implies we don't know

and admitting ignorance

isn't something we can train for

it's something we evolve

Love is a line

an eventual horizon

we learn to stop pursuing

and start appreciating

for it's capability to conform

to the mountains we meet

and the valleys we walk

for it's willingness to bend

around impossible corners

and cross incalculable divides

only to reassure us

that it cannot be broken

Love is a quadrangle

a courtyard where we dance

to the music of the spheres

our imperfect motion

a tribute to imperfect dimensions
that we move through together
because by ourselves
we are merely points
answers that must be strung together
to create lines
horizons that need perspective
for love to take shape

Hurt so good

It hurts so bad

to tell you

I don't want to keep writing

to tell you

I don't want to keep these kids

that I wish they had never been born

but they were

and now their lives

are filled with neglect

and now their lives

are filed away on a hard drive

and the only thing left to do

is a memory wipe

but it's not that simple

because I love them

and it's never that simple

because I love you

and love is never simple

because simple things don't kill people

and love is killing me

My heart

doesn't know when to beat

my heart

seems to think arrhythmia

is a rythm

and days go by

where I can barely take a breath

and days go by

where I forget to breathe

so I might be dead already

but I wouldn't know

what it feels like

I wouldn't be able to translate death

for you

because you're so alive

in my heart

because you'll be alive

when I take my final breath

so I might be dead already

but that doesn't change a thing

It hurts so bad

to write these words

it makes me sick

to write these words

and file them under

maybe

because maybe is a baby

who wants to say yes

but hasn't learned to talk yet

like me

who hasn't learned to talk

just to file words

under maybe

just to file away words

like love

to put them in their incubators

and watch them grow

to put them in my heart

and make me hurt

hurt so good