Here. Now.

Here. Now.

Here. Now.
In the shade
of mountains
I hide away—
bathing in silence
washing in peace.

Here. Now.
Ancient sapience
drifts in the wind,
the present
vanishes
the second
it begins.

Here. Now.
Primal advisors
urge I practice
the love of
letting go;
I understand
this to begin
with you.

Here.
Now.

Feral Heart

Feral Heart

Somewhere between
the great canyon
and the cacti
he confessed
he could not love her.

Somewhere between
the prickly pear
and a crumbling earth
Her shaky voice replied,
“I’ll be just fine.”

Now she is wild
like the desert,
feral as a
coyote’s cry;
knowing there’s
little distinction
between the
plight of hunger
and the fight
of heart.

This is not the fairytale you're looking for.

This is not the fairytale you’re looking for.

You’ll want
to blame her;
but don’t.
She’s not the
antagonist here.
Just a misguided girl
who fell for a
shadow, a
projection cast
in a cave.

She was his first kill,
I mean–love;
the thrill he chases
but just cant quite
ever again fill.

The villain here
is a man
who looks into
her eyes and only
sees a grave.
A man who knows
his life begins
on the other side
of flames.
He feels its pulse;
tastes the salt
on his tongue,
but just
won’t
go.

In this daily
ACT of inaction
he betrays her
and kills himself.

unrequited

unrequited

Meticulously I consider
the placement of
these fragile, little letters
precariously perched
upon delicate,
slightly unsteady serifs.

Diligently deliberating
the most effective
configuration–
the most capable
combination–to convey
this quiver in my bones,
this shudder in my lungs,
the sound of a heart breaking.

Picking through the
shattered pieces,
these tiny fragments
of mine, i find
a comma shaped splinter.
Perhaps it belongs here
,
a tiny pause,
a shallow breath,
a metaphor for
you.

Possibly it better serves
lingering like an apostrophe,
an indication of possession,
manifestation of a merging,
which,
we are not.

On second thought,
how does one
effectually punctuate
absence of affection,
the reticence in rejection,
unrequited love?

Yes, of course,
the self-effacing ellipsis
soundlessly signifying:
lack of substance…
the weight of hanging space…
and words I’ll never say

The Lost Boy

The Lost Boy

Her absolute
inability to keep
her hands
to herself;
that, he reflected,
marked the moment:
the sudden death
of his affection.

Now his hands
are everyone’s—
and no one’s.

He absolutely
embodies
her indiscretions;
wounding in fashion,
matching with precision
the patterns
of his scars.

This is his un-doing:
his choosing to remain
the lost boy.

Pretty Little Tragedies

Pretty Little Tragedies

The way clouds
pile together
to mighty pillars
bracing the sky,
then vanish
with a shift in wind.

The connections made
in complex webs
intertwined over time,
torn away at every end
with a simple
swipe of hand.

How you,
my favorite may be,
in the second of a snap
image fixed to a lens
aperture and opportunity sealed,
became a never will be.

The Lonely Harvest

The Lonely Harvest

We are
walking wounds,
seeping sores of
loss and
lamentation.
A swollen
sickly people
plowing into
one another
tearing at
the soil,
uprooting,
spreading seed,
for a slippery
second,
a breath…
of relief.

We bury
turmoil
in bodies.

Perpetually
planting
an incessant
harvest of
loneliness…
that madness,
of the sad.

We are
walking wounds
covered
crown to boot
in battle armor.
Fighting for life—
to the death.
A warring tribe
clashing bodies, yet
terrified
to touch
a soul.

Believe Him

Believe Him

When he says you’re amazing
a woman of wonder unlike he’s ever seen…
Believe him.
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Holding Ghosts

Holding Ghosts

electricity flashed
in those brown eyes,
your dark pupils rapidly grew,
inviting me to glimpse
at the depth of your soul.
A softness cascade
down the angles of your face,
while a crimson flush
crept up and across your cheeks,
and I swear –
your bottom lip trembled
– just a little.

or was I seeing ghosts?
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The Nothing

his words remind me of life,
they inspire me to feel.
They show me hope
and in me, confide.
I pray the sparks they light
will grow to flames
and melt the ice within.
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