You hold your breath and bite your tongue until you breathe in with intent to speak. I melt wax into my ears and tie back both my arms, to prepare to hold our heads underwater. The Doppler effect of willful ignorance – I distort all I don’t want hear.

If I could create a scene pretty enough to spend forever in, I’d stay there forever with you. It’d be a fabricated work of fiction, but I’d position us just right. If you could pull wool blankets over faces, and dream until you sleep, I’ll ignore our fading eyes, decaying flesh, and growing acceptance of despair.

We could carve a home out of the fumes of hopes and dreams, and remind each other that happiness was made up in children’s stories. But let’s remain children while together we grow old; let’s lie and watch the clouds below until we can make-believe the truth.  Don’t break the stillness with your words: it could all so easily float away.


Triangles are my favorite shape, and a veiled insult is my favorite flavor.

Orange is my favorite color, but only when it’s winter.

Your eyes closing is my favorite farewell, and for hello it’s when they open.

Colloquial is my favorite word – I think I learned it for class in high school.

You’re the metaphors I can’t create, is my favorite metaphor,

And kittens are my favorite animal, although I’ll say it’s penguins.

Underachieving is my favorite way to relax, but it’s the only way I know of,

But listing favorites isn’t my favorite way to write (if I can even call this) a poem.

But it’s fitting of my favorite way to spend today’s time, which is to waste it,

And I’m sorry if that seems quite sad – check back with me tomorrow.

plenty of fish

There are plenty of fish in the sea, but there are also miles of line to cut or to break – leaving mouths pierced with hooks, from one point of view, and losing tonight’s dinner, from the other. Love leaves us injured or it leaves us hungry for more.  In this scenario: a catch is the best we could hope for. But what is a catch, but to bring a fish aboard, trying to swim, but left flopping on the floor?  Removed from oxygen – once useful gills turned useless.  The fisherman’s successful, but the fish here loses. Scaled. Boned. Eaten up for dinner. Dressed in a lemon butter sauce. What a pretty picture. He’s fed for tonight, by tomorrow: back at sea.  Teach a man to fish. Teach a woman to please.

it was a song for someone else, but this poem is for you

He said I never take the blame.

I said it’s neither yours nor mine.

He said I make excuses.

I said I’m trying to explain my side.


He said some more, and more after that,

but I had buts in opposition.

And when he said that it was over,

I thought, of course, he couldn’t mean it.


But when you’re the cause and offer no solution,

can you really play surprised?

I broke his heart and he broke mine,

and apart we’re picking up the pieces.


But I have tape and I have glue

and some sweet somethings to say

I hope I haven’t learned too late to listen –

are you sure we can’t find a way to fix it?

i heard a sad song on the radio this morning

Believing in a nonbeliever.

Convinced of fate with faithlessness.

I’ve blurred in blanks where words were placed

with truth or delusion

or an immiscible suspension of the two.


It’s chemical in its momentum.

I’m ephemeral in my hopes and dreams.

An educated child: winning battles, losing wars.

Still surprised by losses,

but watching from the “winning side.”


Education can’t teach wisdom,

and the heartbroken learn what ifs.

But if you said once more: dance with me.

I’d show you

I’m worth the second chance.