Crossroad

Everything

and everyone

you ever loved

will one day

find themselves

at a crossroad—

where you’ll be

standing

pocketing fists

hunched like a Lily,

or else dancing

ripped like paper

on a wall full of flowers

looking lovely—

except they won’t know you

anymore, not anymore

than you know your own self—

cheeks, rosy as embers

the lush on the floor,

I’ll know his name well

you bet I’ll be singing—

So best get to knowing,

before you regret

a lifetime pretending

you’ve remembered only

to forget.

Ashes to Ashes

There’s no denying that’s a pretty face
There’s no excuse still for being late
The corner store’s got a sale on
Greeting cards that sell have price love
There’s truth in breathing at an even pace
There’s beauty bending to bear the weight
Now either way you feel overwhelmed
Exchanging coffee for whiskey now
I’ve got a big bad wolf of a habit
Full of hot air and over dramatics
Got a house built solely of glass when
I huff and puff well nothing happens
I gave her cashmere for Christmas once
She gave me friendship when I had none
There’s proof in putting a sweater on
The back of someone you’re giving up
I’ve got a big bad wolf of a habit
Full of disdain for love when I have it
Got a house built solely of glass and
No stones left to throw just ashes ashes

At the airport

And just like children

stuck on an island—

while in line at the airport—

we turn order into chaos

clubbing one another

for a better boarding class,

elbows at the ready

on armrests made for war—

“This. Is. Ridiculous!”

shouts one

“It’s an outrage!”

cries the other—

All our flights delayed

with boulders on the mind.

To Catch The Light

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore

Now no one is the same as before

I’ve tried sometimes, to catch the light

But I don’t really know you anymore

And I don’t really like what I’ve seen

Reality’s distorted in a dream

I’d say goodbye, but that ain’t right

I guess I’ll have to relearn how to be

Normal’s out the question in this town

People lay like garbage on the ground

I start to cry, then stumble by

So drunk I don’t even make a sound

It’s taken me a decade to agree

I write in figure eights this poetry

It helps sometimes, to dim the light

Like reaching towards just one thing to believe

But let us not go gentle to the night

Or hang ourselves like portraits full of spite

Each day’s a chance, life’s a romance

Each time we try like hell to catch the light

Another Life

If this were

Another life

I wouldn’t know

or even care

to tell the difference,

though rest assured

I’d still wonder—

how the body wakes itself up

just before the alarm kills silence, or

how’s the mind can handle

such a cellophane history of pain and violence—

how lucky it would be

to be somebody richer,

whose price I’d have to pay

whose suffering I’d deal

regardless of my efforts

in this one.