LOVE

Usually I don't find it necessary to make excuses for my poetry, but seriously I have had a run recently of very sappy poetry and I'd like to apologize for it. If it makes you feel any better it starts out mean.

LOVE

Love is a four letter bridge
To the mist-shrouded home
Of fools and old men
Speaking Hollywood
Languages of cotton candy.

Love is the flimsiest excuse
For abuse I've ever heard.
Love is a chafing ankle-chain,
The most beautiful lie you'll ever
Celebrate saying, Love is
Pain and a commitment to loneliness.

Love is a spiked bat
With two handles.

Love will tangle up
Your arms and legs as
You drown in shallow water.

But.

There is a word for when
We're close together,
For my lust for the
Salt in your lips. For
The feeling when we
Wake up smelling each other.
For the delicious
Hollow of your throat,
For the murmurs as I
Kiss and touch you. And it
Is not caring and less -
Though it hurts me when you are hurt -
And it is more than
A wild abandon in flesh. It is two
People learning to trust
Again, coming to a place where
Only two live. There is
A word for this world
That defies my halting
Tongue to say "love."

the backside of NOTHING

An exercise at Zelda's. We had quotes to work from. Mine was "the backside of NOTHING" which I felt was kind of difficult to work with.

the backside of NOTHING

Holding nothing high, I'll slap its backside.
Startled, it will gasp air for the first time and scream
Exactly as loud as the cold outside, as loud as a
Thousand people watching the blank night sky for lights,
As loud as my eyes, as I lie here, watching your face
For signs, in this breathless space where we move in time.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving

Seeing the signs for Arundel Mills
I knew I was halfway home and felt a strange
Warmth; and I drove into
Baltimore past the harbor I realized no
Other shoes had dropped - and it was
Suddenly so easy and clear, it was only
An hour away, no terrible fights there or
Brought with me, it was even my
Birthday and there was a cake; I was
Brimming over with this feeling and this whole
Season has felt impossibly lucky, and finally I
Understand this holiday; several quiet
Unearned seconds together.

Storytelling

Storytelling

(for Samantha)

My niece, who is three, calls for her
Popup book as I imagine kings of old
Called for drink, slaves, or favorite
Dogs. When it arrives the pages
Are opened and she gestures at
Alice. Wonderland becomes
A princess's journey through
Enchanted lands...

Cardboard unfolds from each
Page as we turn, two dimensions
Mimic three. We watch her
Spin new stories.

In memory I see old popups of
Mine, pages now worn,
Figures torn. With age
I ruined all these books,
Clutching at cardboard;
I reached through
Silhouettes as I grew
Older and lost
Youthful patience with
Surfaces. I wanted so much
To make my stories real,
I clutched too tightly,
Collapsed the mystery.

My wish for you is to keep
Telling yourself stories,
Find life and love in what you see,
Trust dreams. People can be flimsy,
Possessions betray. Always be ready
To turn the next page.