Unlike the imagined
Forever indefinable
At least for me.

Life is
The emotion that rises in me
When yellowed leaves
Race toward the ground.

Life is
The child jumping up and down
While parents laugh
In symphonies.

Life is
That backlit ally
With Lovers against walls
Next to garbage cans

Life is
Waiting for the car to strike
And begging God
You’re forgiven

Life is
A million dollars
From the biology degree
And a company of shrimp

Life is
The cut along my finger
That pounds through my body
When squeezed with lime

Life is
The photo in the gallery
That makes me linger
For no reason other than
...The hope for explanation...

Mondays
Produce in me
The nostalgia
The Plethora
Of what I’d like to be

Mondays
The ones that smell of winter
When headlights barely are of use
And graveyards
Become homes
To more than just those bodies

Mondays
Gave way to Sundays
Or maybe it was Tuesday
But Who’s to say?

Mondays
I wish I was the kind of person that could wish for one honestly
I believe that if you can hope for a Monday, and be delightful in the fact that another week has begun...Well, perhaps that’s when you know you’ve reached serenity...or is it insanity?
Mondays
Aren’t as bad as we seem to twist them to be. Though they do make me restless, no, excuse me, that’s everyday.
Mondays
Aren’t as tough as we’ve painted them to be. I’d like to make them beautiful, despite the muddied colors.
Why do I forget.

It was in that stairway
With the familiar orange glow
It was on that street
Crossing to reach the words that defined us
It was in that bed
Lips pressed onto my neck
It was in that car
Profanity thrown
It was down the road
Hand clasping hand
It was at that table
In that restaurant
It was on that bench
When ducks learned to walk
It was under blankets
And over hills
In the lake
And at my house
Down the Avenues
Up the fire Escape
The farmers market
It was here
There, around that corner
Against the wall,
An ally way
A park at dusk
And my dreams at night.

It was you
It always has been.
It always will be.

lonely boy, lonely boy
why'd your bird fly away?
naivety filled her restless heart
and your dreams began to fade

little bird, little bird
life is better if you stay
the boy you love has seen your soul
and apart you'll both be dead

Chardonnay in red wine glasses
Head tossed back, as I keep laughing
Shopping carts in ally ways
And maybe we’ll pretend to fly.
Freedom is an empty parking lot
Lit by low lights,
In the middle of the night
And pulling off clothes while dancing
On the frozen asphalt of September
Stopped only by the brilliance of
Gripping rails to fire escapes
Pulling us closer to God

This is our getaway

We watched planes land
And hoped for lives better
Than we had already planned.
Air thick with fuel, our heads
Through that roof
Waiting for life to happen
Oblivious it pulsed in the one
Sitting next to you.

I want to be a pilot
On a lake
With a home
Made only of stone
If that at all.
Perhaps only the sand
And concern myself
With merley my wings
And the fish
Cooking for dinner
I’ll forget buildings
And the lines I might
Have drawn for them
As I wake up in this city
That’s no more than a town
Staying close to its limits
...I wouldn’t want to drown...

The broken people

Left Bibles
On benches
Let Rain
Replace Tears
That should have
Drenched them.

On a Thursday afternoon.