Face Plant

How much of our lives
Will become simply archives
How many more times
Will I forfeit what’s mine
With every passing night
Feeling homesick at twilight
Being anxious and uptight
Can’t say or do anything right.
And the moments still tick by
We both curse the same night sky
Before one of us will recognize
All the ways we jeopardize
The shot we had to eternalize
Has lost the chance to materialize.
And I wish we could rewind
Go back and redefine
We both tow an identical line
Attached to an internal deadline
Born of a universal design
That will eventually unwind.

Plaster Hand.

I have this plaster hand…
Likened to yours;
Hanging above the kitchen door…
The one we made so long ago…
On Christmas Eve Day, just bored…
I have a poem written…
By your tiny hand;
As tiny as the one that hangs…
Above the kitchen door frame…
It says “Mommy I Love You”…
And the Gods help me…
If when I pass it by, I don’t hear the words…
In a sigh, a whispering…
I keep a tiny, silver jewelry box…
The one you saved up for;
Inscribed across the dusty top …
Is chiseled in, beautifully:
“I Love You Mommy”…
And Mommy dies a little more…
I have all these haunting memories…
Of having future plans;
Fulfilling hopes and dreams…
Just you and I surviving…
Getting back up to stand…
I saved these Christmas things…
Yours and mine;
Stored away like a box to mourn…
Every year, when it’s opened again…
And looks the same…
As the years before…
I held on to your special ornaments…
All of them;
Though I never hang them high…
I never get a tree anymore…
I see no reason why…
But I keep these things…
To remind myself…
Of the twinkle lost to my eye…
I held on to so many things…
Of yours;
Desperately trying…
To keep you somehow, near…
Closer at least…
Than wherever you are…
I have this little butterfly wing…
You brought home;
You flew it behind you like a kite…
A colorful ghost that chased you…
Right out of second grade…
I find these notes you wrote…
To me; To Mommy;
They read your apologies…
For spilling toothpaste on the rug…
And I want to come find you wherever you are…
And tell you that rug never mattered to me.

The Plank.

You, so manly
present to me
a charming mystery,
cyber-spatially,
but maybe,
tell me…
your well-versed hands,
can they find me,
and touch me?
Can that buccaneer,
pirate this booty?
Can your glasses shade,
this blazing heat?
Can your man stand up,
to your poetry?
our secret affair
of which you’re not aware,
surprise!
do you follow me?

Of My Court.

The line is clear,
your voice is true –
when you inquire,
if I still belong to you…
my response is sure,
as the day is long –
when I assert,
that I belong to no one…
though, in spite of such,
the flame that we produce –
continues to burn,
the hottest shades of blue…
the whitest heat,
the love runs deep –
like a river’s mouth,
feeding directly into…
the vastness of oceans,
the vacuum of space –
the grip of your fingers,
the look on your face…
you remain my Hero,
the Champion of my court –
whittler of my wooden heart,
fixer of my broken parts…
you’ve caught my tears,
and scrubbed away,
in total disarray –
the stains left by my blood…
you’ve carried me,
screaming and kicking,
cursing the heavens,
from the top of my lungs –
you sat me down,
when the day was done…
and reminded me of how,
redemption would come –
someday, somehow,
you say, let’s focus on,
this moment right now…
and the future to come,
but the truth is,
when good nights are said,
and the laughter is gone –
I still love you as much,
as I’ve always done…
the distance that has,
always plagued –
the wedge between,
any regular touch,
that much needed spark,
a transmission,
the ignition,
a link that strings invisibly –
between yours,
and my own skin…
it is still this way,
for the same reason today,
as it always was back then –
you’re there,
and I’m here,
love can’t make,
the void disappear…
no matter how true,
or how real, or pure –
I know it hurts you so much,
that I need to be touched,
I need to be felt,
heard, and related to –
up close and personally,
not electronically,
not through text messaging…
you can claim me,
the day that I finally –
say “fuck it”,
and come home to you.

Pleased for a King.

Stand tall and silent in the face of me;
against the trickery of the Milky Way…
in compliance with the God of Defiance;
forget ever seeing me broken this way…

This prayer is born of necessity;
these pitiful tears turn out to be mine…
I again, come back to feel your whip crack;
I’ve been lost: following the eyes of blind…

Please grant to me: your moments asleep;
I’d be pleased if a King was to still dream of me…
don’t cast me too far beyond your sovereign reach;
please circle back for me, before you finally leave…

Without your presence of balance, I’ve lost my way;
I need your conversation and I want feel your kiss…
time to act, no holding back another single day;
what’s most important here is that we can still do this…

Palms up to push at the bottom of your heart;
but you cursed and swatted me away…
I bet you will look for me here eventually;
after I died waiting to see that “someday”.

Dreaming in the Color Blue.

I’ve been a bad girl, haven’t I?
not really though –
I’m afraid,
it’s all in your mind…
the come, the go –
made unmade,
just side-steps in time…
when did the bridge begin to smolder?
I didn’t know –
pre-occupied,
a cheek turned to the shoulder…
the highs, the lows –
de-mesmerized,
turn the cold season colder…
In which direction did the gallops go?
stampeding through –
heart is filleted,
opened seam, for you…
the yes, the no –
nocturnal dread,
dreaming in the color blue…
forbade be me by my own spirit?
a shame to know –
over-analyzed,
too loud for you to hear it…
the quick, the slow –
self-sold and bought lies,
to become truth because you fear it.