Between two pensive heads

We frame our conversations
on phrases friendly.
Not too suggestive, not too shallow — safe.

But unsatisfied with exchanges
pleasant in place of passionate,
I long to lose our lazy pace.

Instead, I imagine our heads
inching ever closer in intimate whispers
delivering words I dare not divulge.

Yet, my lips lay still
and my head stays straight.
Thus, our banter continues banal.

And though it bends around the danger,
the peril of potential hovers
in the hot air between two pensive heads.



Night fall

Scooch a little closer
on a bench already made
too small

By the looming promise
of what can happen after
night fall

And let my shaky breath
and my janky hands
draw you in

And when wrong word
extinguishes what burns


Borrowed time

Been storing it all up
for just what…
I could not say

But I’ve had my fill
of these tears that still
come with the break of each day

Now the time has come
to let the flood gates run
and wash away this decay

With a brand new face
that feeling did replace
I find the strength to go

Off the map right now
I don’t care somehow
Step with the water’s flow

Prepared to jump right in
and let what will begin
take root and grow




Eyes ringed with last night’s awake,
blink numbly in brilliant light.
No revelations came with day break.
So, greet the morn with no delight.

Turn and turn it over again
’till can’t tell right side up from down.
How many days must I spend
wondering for what am I bound?

Head ached from thoughts tossed
by idle threats and bluster.
Grown weary of the logic lost
amid the maze of much clutter.

Spin and spin ’round some more
’till everything is a blur.
What makes steady steps sure
when head and feet can’t concure?



Behind the stone house

Slanting light slips silent
through turning amber leaves
to fall on spent summer greens
and cast a gold glow on the eve.

Soil giving slightly under foot
and air blowing softly on brow,
I seek the spot where birches bend
and the slow swaying pines do bow.

Retracing your retreat
into realms long forgot.
I recall what it is you taught me
that lessons and library could not.

The revelations that rise
only in the strange solitude
of the lively chaos trees provide
and reveal truths obscured by haste.

Here, among the stoic elders,
I absorb the wisdom of the wood,
hear the whispered words spoken
by a heart pleading, “Do what you would.”


The thought in your eyes

The thought in your eyes,
that doesn’t travel across your lips,
is putting space between our hands.

The bonds that tie,
in the absence of your firm grip,
are becoming weak and tattered strands.

The hope in my heart,
which doesn’t leave its cold chamber,
is securing a secret from you.

The foot on the stair,
the one that forgot how it came there,
is turned by the conclusions you drew.


Slow ends

Weighty imperfections bend my will.
Lower it to unworthy aims.
What’s the point of wanting it still,
when no pull on you it claims?

One by one desires shrink to duty
and cravings to responsibility cave.
Why cling to them tightly,
when I don’t deserve them anyway?

Hurriedly days rush to slow ends.
Uncertain if time stretches or stops.
How can I tell when moments blend,
if I use the sameness as a prop?