Shower

Part my lips and blazing water flows in

    To clean out the space between my bones
    Sweep up the scraps of Sunday sin
    Dust off my brain and its great unknowns
    Mop the heavy smoking conflict from each lung
    Sanitize the silent grime left in your deepest cut
    Rinse the unhappy acid from my tongue
    Floss the indecisive space between my heart and gut
    Buff my kidneys to their youthful sober shine
    Purify every thought black with doubtful unease
    Scrape each stillborn concern from my spine

    And Brush the bad habits from between my knees

The heat of this labor escapes in sharp exhale

    Short breaths birthing shining music in major scale

The Fingertips of a Voice

Thin sheen of water on a floor
Invisible until touched
The fingertips of a voice send ripples through
Memories puddled there
Growing to waves of contemplation
What was said back then
Felt in deepness of the gut
The wind of heavy breath adding to the whites
Of his eyes and the waves
Travel to the other coast
Crash against deeply seized hearts
Washing down throats with swallowed thoughts
Leaving salt on the tongue
From great bodies of pining
When the annual touch transpired
But as the waves and phone lines break
I tear away from the enthralling current
And bursting to the surface
My lungs refind the air
Of only lightly missing you from afar
So that I can keep afloat.

No Eclipse

You are staring at the sun
Blindness in beauty and awe
Try to stop what has begun

Light that compares to no one
Can cause them but has no flaw
You are staring at the sun

Color exceeded by none
Wanting on but you withdraw
Try to stop what has begun

Danger not to be undone
Through my skin and eyes you saw
You are staring at the sun

The casing bursts from a gun
After the shot, hot and raw
Try to stop what has begun

Heat and glory outrun
Freeze in fear only to thaw
You are staring at the sun
Try to stop what has begun

What I Couldn't Write

There is no poetic way to say that I broke your heart
Every metaphor falls short of that fear in your eyes
No hyperbole can exaggerate minutes spent thinking of you
Similes paint a lifeless picture of the trust I shattered
The game of alliteration cannot dance around this remorse
Absolutely no onomatopoeia could express the sound of sobbing, the arms wrapped so fiercely, the breathing of hair, the tears falling to clothes, the pull away, the closing door...
And nothing rhymes with I’m sorry.

Happy Mary

Last time you got older, mom, I was making a mistake.
Funny how it's hard to imagine your face.
Your voice.
Do you still go by Mary Lou?
Are you still playing house?
What did you do this Easter?
You must have been excited to share a birthday with Jesus' rise from the dead.
Are you in Michigan?
Did you paint your nails? Cook potatoes? Eggs? Ham? Pancakes?
I did. I cooked pancakes.
Chocolate chip and in a hurry.
I'm sure church was lovely.
What did you wear?
I pretty much stayed home.
Everything was closed.

Parade of Want

I want to stay poor forever.
I want to be selfless enough to love you all again.
I want to dream of people that meant something.
I want to spin a web of truths.
I want to escape so many forces of habit.
I want to fall back asleep in the bed of my childhood.
I want to force time to be inconsequential.
I want to believe in more than I do.
I want to trust that I will die happy.
I want to knock on a strangers' door and be invited in.
I want to breathe the air from twenty other countries.
I want to rebuild those who matter.
I want to imagine the father of my future children being an amazing man.
I want to be contented by the sound of wind.
I want to grow my mind like a weed.
I want to accept my inability to ever fully know.
I want to learn to be a duck and allow words to roll of my back.
I want to remember that my days are numbered.
I want to expect what I deserve.
I want to feel my laughter shake the tips of my toes.
I want to smile in the faces of adversaries.
I want to be confident in the life that I choose to lead.
I want to create good.
I want to create good.
I want to create good.

These Threads

Over my head, into you.
Each particle of smoke twisted between these threads
Stands tall with wild hair, pensive eyes,
And a thin coating of hatred.
Each particle that I breathe in is you.
You in jeans and a yellow cardigan. You.
You hiding in the air of my clothes.
You beside my closing throat.
You coursing through my lungs
You and every. Single. Ounce. Of your complete and utter abandoning indifference towards me.
Me. Only sometimes. You.
You all tangled up in this shirt.
Me stretching every long sinew of my back to drape myself in these threads.
Me breathing impossibly deeply.
Me soaking myself in this smoke.
Me forgetting all of your bitterness.
Me. Falling into you.

Rabbit Foot

I miss missing you, rabbit foot
Oh, dear, gasp, choke the faith I had in all that's disturbing
Your cool, soft smoothness in my hand
The luck I gleaned from actions so unnerving

I'd rather just pretend that we've moved on.
So I can't stand this slow dance.
Cheek to cheek I can't help but love
Which is why my habits are those of avoidance.

Speaking of which, you're just a habit. You fill the gaps my mind creates when it over thinks until all that surrounds is a masticated mush--ohhh, no--of spoiled secret feelings. Bitch?