Saturday, January 31, 2009


and the stream through the brush through the wood
slips slowly, sneakily, simply past my lips
to deaden misnomered shouts,
misplaced modifiers.

yet the spell in the book past the clock
swirls slightly, spitefully, silently around your ears
countering dissatisfying compliments,
melting self-developed worries.

for the keys cloaked with ivory in the ebony
strike them stupefied. such starlit surprise shies
listeners from listening
the player from playing

the laughter from laughing
the despair from disheartening
the woken from walking
the born from becoming

becoming a tearful remedy
of broken delights
knowing not which harmony
to hum, drum, or run from

the stream's spell
the key to laughing at despair,
to awaking (not becoming)
a broken harmony.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

For You

The ring on my finger

the paint on my nails

reveal love then independence

reveal some sort of strength in my face

a harshened, sometimes falsified


because I am not yet broken enough to fall in front of you,

I will stand tall in front of you.

and because my tears fail to fall upon my own shoulder

I will save it for you,

keep it dry for you,

and dry it again once you've left

that it might remain inviting

and within reach.

I promise you, it will always remain within reach.