February 2012
29 posts
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a simple prayer.
tomorrow,
if i awake,
give me the strength
to stand up,
raise my lips to the sun,
and drink.
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nocturnal.
we creatures of the night,
we children of stardust,
drawn out
like moths to the moon;
to explore the oceans
of mist and shadow
that linger about,
to dance
in the wet grass
with naked feet,
warm,
alive.
yes,
we were alive,
we inhaled the night
and savored the taste
of it
on our lips
and tongues
and deep down
in the caverns of our lungs,
we lived
and breathed
while the rest of...
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i'm beginning to forget.
winter has taken me;
mind,
body,
soul.
i yearn for,
i desire the touch
of your
breath
on my
neck,
it reminds me of summer.
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february 22nd, 2002.
i thought
your hand
would still be warm
when
i held it,
like it used to be
when you
held
me,
but i found
a chill
inside your palm
instead,
and knew then
that your body
was
empty
and you were
dead—
or
somewhere above
me
in
the dark canvas of
space.
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fin.
press your lips
against mine,
before the rain comes
and washes me
away
forever.
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stay with me.
every night
around this time,
i watch the sun fall
into the open arms
of an oak tree,
and i hear it
whisper:
stay with me,
stay with me
for longer than a minute,
stay with me
and i’ll hold you
through the night,
but the oak is too weak
and the sun
slips away,
silently
dripping
through its fingers
into the darkness.
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actias luna.
once,
when i was young,
an old man told me
the moon was made of moths.
that’s why it rises, he said,
and falls,
and why
sometimes pieces disappear,
flying off
to pollinate the stars.
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m.
don’t hide
behind the ghosts
that rise
from tea cups,
or the dreams you drink
and forget.
the moon is awake
and you,
you’re alive
and beautiful.
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b (anima).
anima
where are you?
what are you?
what is my soul?
my life,
what is a day,
a breath?
is it a question,
an answer,
a mystery?
or a collection of moments
shared between heartbeats
and fingertips
a collection of senses
savored in memory jars
the smell
of coffee
of dripping sunrises
and summer evenings
the touch
of paper pages
in old books
the chill of snow
and skin brushing...
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a (anima).
we’ve forgotten
the meaning of a day,
too mesmorized
and hypnotized
by the hands of a clock,
breathing
is just a drop
of life
inside an ocean
of existence.
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everything else.
i don’t know
what else to say,
not because i ran out
of words, because i haven’t,
nor will i ever.
i don’t know what else to say
because i’m running out of paper,
and ink,
and trees,
and strength in my fingers.
so i’ll finish,
put a stamp on the envelope
and tell you
i’ll continue on
into everything else
that lies beyond the horizon.
i will...
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has poetry lost its power?
the words i write
are inconsequential,
senescent syllables
losing their strength
and ability to stay
alive on a page
for more than two seconds,
they fade and fall off
getting lost forever,
unable to find a way
into your heart.
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blank pages.
you drift so far
away from me,
and i find myself lost
in a sea of white.
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february 10th.
i wish you would stay
with me and find secrets
in the stars
in the trees,
in the scars on our knees
and in all the tiny creases
of our palms.
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i write, therefore i am.
ink drips from my fingers,
ink flows through my veins.
these tiny teardrops
of poems and stories,
pouring from the aqueducts
of my brain.
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flammable.
my lips are matches,
and yours are sparks.
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youdontneedsockstobreathe.
i didn’t want my bed
to be my grave,
so i woke up and lived.
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wrinkles.
kiss my face,
my fingers,
the palms of my hands.
leave your mark
on my skin; abiding
impressions of the seconds
we shared,
so that i might remember you still,
at the end of time
when my memory has faded,
the sun has dimmed,
and you have fallen asleep.
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sea lyrics.
the sky swallows a fire
to the west,
as i feed the ocean poetry
in an empty bottle.
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to: a visitor.
make yourself comfortable
inside my head.
lay down in my brain,
i want you to stay.
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a storm came from the north, and overtook us.
we stand in a blizzard
and you still melt my heart.
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the crystal ball is broken.
i guess
we wont know
where we’re going
until we get there,
but when we arrive
at the end of it all,
we’ll know
we loved.
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rewind.
if i walk backwards
to the birth of the day,
to the dawn,
could i start over?
could i be brave enough
(this time)
to be good?
brave enough
(this time)
to smile,
to forgive,
to cherish hope,
to embrace beauty,
to be selfless,
to be thankful,
to be kind,
and courageous?
if i found my way back
to the sunrise,
to the beginning,
could i have one more chance?
one more breath,
to...
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a question, after midnight.
“how will this end?”
you asked
and i took your hand in mine.
“i don’t know,” was my reply.
“all i have for you
is a beginning.”
January 2012
41 posts
3 tags
i love when we end up together.
the day smolders
and sighs
orange embers,
a golden sky
ebbing away,
flickering out;
and you
remain with me.
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eyegazing.
please
open your eyes
so that i might see
the universe,
and everything
beautiful
hiding inside.
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to: broken hearts.
we’re glass,
shattered on the sidewalks.
a million beautiful fractures
reflecting light.
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sea inside me.
i felt the rush
of a tiny wave
from the ocean
roll down my cheek
and fall off
into blue ripples
of carpet.
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my book is on sale!
first off, i wish to thank all
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lunatics.
we’re like the moon,
you said.
we’re forever.
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if i had wings i'd fly to you.
a flock of turquoise birds
with folded paper wings
attached by silver strings
keep me company as i dream,
staring out an open window.
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time travel.
i found you
again today,
faded and dusty
inside a rusty box
on the top shelf
of a dark closet,
inside my head.
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traces.
what ghosts have landed here
under the moon’s watch?
leaving footprints
in the snow for us to find,
before flying away.
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a chill.
winter permeates through walls
before wrapping around me,
in the absence of your arms.
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a spoken letter (words).
dear love,
what can i say?
sometimes spoken syllables slip away
from my tongue and get lost
somewhere in the wind and die,
my lips could try to mumble
pretty things, stumbling rings around the point
until it’s too late and the moment passes
but this new weight of importance masses
inside my head,
(i gotta get this out.)
my heart should be read instead of spoken,
so i’ll write.
i’ll write,
i’ll...
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winter blankets.
it’s so silent, the snow,
i wonder if the world
even knows it’s falling
asleep?
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prodigal sun.
it came back
at dawn
kissing frosted fields
and frozen flowers—
in mourning,
in repentence
for leaving
all this beauty
in the dark.
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atomic (part two).
i will keep breathing,
yes you taught me how to,
with the wind.
so, even when i mumble,
even when the words
get all jumbled and clogged
up in my throat,
even in the silence
of blank pages and nothing
i’ll breathe bits of air
and tiny gasps. just enough,
enough to recite the words
i wrote down on scraps of paper
for you and all the world.
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imaginary.
we live inside an enchanted bliss
of timidity, hiding
behind fantasy, flight, and dream,
where everything is a possibility
but nothing comes to be.