the darkness

sometimes i think if you died
i wouldn't care at all

i'd stare coldly into a blank wall
and see nothing

the rain would freeze
when it hit my skin
my crisp skin would crack

i wouldn't feel it
as i crumbled

from my puddle
i'd look up
and thank the sun

a brave face

time wears thick
on my heavy glasses
as they sink
deep into my forehead
drawing a line

engraved
it sits in silence
awaiting release

the pillow lets me rest
the pillow lets me breath
the line dissipates
I floats upon
a midnight cloud

the clock strikes 6
my pumpkin is a car

my stoic line returns
to face a new day

a possible book starter?

the door slams behind her
she, in tears and in a fruitless fit of effort,
attempts to catch her breath

hunched on the stoop
with no railing
her back leans against nothing
but cold air
her bottom
frigid on snow and cement

frozen tears now gather
and meet her nose
a stranger hands her a tissue

a picture of her

the best image of her
is turned upside-down

it looks out to the sea,
frothing and waving
with the rhythm of change
and the sound of foam

it searches for a stable place
her frame rattles... then shakes
and struggles to reach the shore
holds on to the wave's tip
once again...frame flips

the sea is calm
it fights to be free

her face, upside-down again
and beautifully awake
embraces the turmoil
of the heavy sea

she is you, and you are me
we move through the
choppy waters, we hold hands
we shape each other
with the sand

the comfort of the unknown

i don't remember
our last good-bye

on your porch
as the wind scolded us

or in tears
by the front door
as I tearfully angered
at your news

or on your couch
as our eyes met
with a fervor
our bodies ignored

i remember the stars
the way you carried
me over a puddle
so that I could stay dry

at least until
our last good-bye

i don't remember
because it wasn't our
last
it couldn't be
and if it is
it is better
i have memories
to wander in

the time

the time has passed
to dwell on hearts - broken
by wanderlust
broken
for wanderlust

the time has come
to love
to count the years
before they go
and our bodies
trepidate
as our last breath
is whisked away
by life

the time has passed
for hate
for despair

the time has come
to care
for each passing second
as if it were a small baby
crying for milk 

September

September's promise
Scribbled, passed, and crumpled falls
Into the wrong hands