Being Yourself

People always wanted you to be yourself,

except when you did, well

they didn’t like it all that much.

01/25/2021

Broken Hearts

One day

When ready

I’ll tell you a story.

A story of a boy

Who never stopped running.

I’m just not ready

To break your heart.

My very American illusion of happiness

Nothing feels good tonight.

Nothing sits well.

Nothing but myself and beer

to drown away my very American illusion

of happiness—my dear, I’m not sorry.

Please understand.

Our Gestation Period

When I found her like

a set of lost keys,

it was a mystery even to her

where she’d been hiding

or who left her there—but

I knew that look, as I’d worn once—

and it wasn’t me anymore.

So I let her sleep.

And I let her eat.

Then after her strength regained,

I walked her to the wood,

and watched her twirl with the wind—

of all that remained,

and all she’d forgotten—

like a dizzy spell I’d soon be too.

Huckleberry Heels

Silence falls like snowflakes

Covering the field

Where birds like statues watch

My huckleberry heels

With frost left underfoot

The hallow ground revealed

Where doe tread light as feather

And sun spill bleeds me home

Walking in the desert of night

For once in this hell of a lifetime

I’m not calling anyone out—

Walking in the desert of night stars

With my own well being

I no longer glance behind—

Finally I realize there is nothing left behind

Nothing that isn’t worth looking forward to—

My soul is clean, my eyes are clear

I no longer cry for those I cannot save—

Saving myself, one step at a time.

December Evening, 2020

These Veil Thin Times

What I’ll never have answers for

Happened in the split of a second

And broke me for a lifetime in two

I can pick up the pieces sometimes

Mostly I have the strength, except

These other sometimes when

It all comes pouring out, when words

Make sense just enough to suffer again

A little less each time, though time

Time is often wearing me veil thin—

Like a dusting of snow covers ice—

I’m that unsuspecting victim

Trudging through a never ending dreamscape

Sidestepping, cautious through life

Hotel outside Orlando, 2011

8:30 in New Jersey

The evening air is still—

Black ice it lies in waiting—

Walking with the cold

I watch asphalt exhaling.

If winter had a home—

Or frost a day to rest—

It be within this heart,

It be within this breath.

A story

There’s always a story to tell.

Always,

A story…

To tell—

Our eyes told stories

I’ll always remember that day

And keep it as a reminder—

That day in which you looked my way

And I didn’t have a clue who you were

And you didn’t have a clue who I was

That day in which our eyes told stories—

As to what is most important.

So if and when we lose our way, I know

Together we’ll find ourselves again—

Where eyes can say what words cannot express—

And stories, we, can only tell together.