Happening

The shoes I threw away two months ago
might be walking down the street
somewhere.

The peak of the mountain is still happening.
The clay is always reading his lines aloud.

The sea could never stop.
She is probably exhausted
from heaving onward,
churning seconds into shoreline.

We have found
unceasing
semiprecious
crystalline minutes
tucked up into our sleeves.


after reading T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets
poem - March 2014

Boundless

Our lips broke away
with a crisp sound
akin to an egg
cracking in your fingers 

on the lip of a bowl.

Your noble shell
engulfs my scattered sun.
Hands hold the both of us -
your serrated halves,
my could’ve-been.

Love is porous sometimes.
I am filled one moment,
then you, then me, then you.

My love, boundless egg,
we were poured into the same heat,
became separately.

But look,
now, here, somehow,
we are one sky
with two suns.

poem - March 2014

I heard her say: "The lights are a little out in my brain today."

You are exhausted, aggregate;
your mind is made of dunes and traffic.

The earth knew you once before:

an Egyptian noblewoman - your brain was removed, 

discarded, beside the painted canopic jars,
the mummified cats.

Your bulbs burn out because your brain 

remembers the ceremony, the shredding,
the brilliant lobes of you

irreverently dismembered. 

I find you beautiful and handsome.
I long for your metronome lungs,
your amethyst heart.

Long have I counted your worth.
We have found coins of comfort
we’d forgotten in an old coat pocket.

In love I am mostly helpless -
there is a rustling in the soles of my feet.
It keeps me awake. 

Sometimes I stumble over nothing. 

Sometimes we lie about anything.
We are demented and it is good. 

You do not mind - you want me.

I do not mind - I want you. 

Come, jump inside, climb in with the detritus.
I will hoard you until I can't anymore.

poem - February 2014