This Is Why (We Fight)

Jaws ajar, like collecting falling stars.
And they’re always falling.
Someone else’s dream
diminishing on my tongue.
Everything’s been said.
My eyes are more than mirrors
this time, one time.
Reflections, recklessly stitching
assumed seams projecting
their own means.
Still the words aren’t right.
But I’ve already said them all.
Whose disengaged lips
sanctioned my star to fall?

Formal Invitations

Slanderous by nature, and oh.
Yeah, she fell in love again.
I have no title to scratch away yet,
too easy a target.
Repetition maps out
predictable lapses in my
cerebral awareness.
And oh.
Yeah, she rains to rust my
lead pipe dream fantasies.
Sixth time charms and
critics believe me, even
praise my soon to be
ship wreck policies.
Yeah, pioneering, I'm sure.

Count to Forty-Eight

Suddenly, tangible.
Solitaire from here on.
Feels like
lost all sentiment.
It’s an ode to
how you know it should:
seeping. Finding holes to fill
with nothing in particular.
Snake tongues.
Prying others eyes,
no sleep tonight.
They’ll hiss and cry,
leave flowers in their place.
More empty than when they arrived
each stumble to remnants.

Tom Waited

[OLD]

The sky above the trees.
I'm peeking, remembering to breathe.
Ladykiller left just in time.
I want the words I write
about you
to be disgusting.


I won't care.
Keep me occupied,
so I don't need to care.
Waking, making plans
every moment best spent
together.
Contain my interest.
Sick of dry throats
making me feel nobody
can love me again.
They haven't yet.

Of Mouth

Fishing, minds set to
phrase.
It was always about the words.
Praising phases:
flawed even when free.
(My apologies Jenny)
Love questions
are rhetorical given the facts.

Pen Pricks

Finding out too late some tallies never fade.
And oh so suddenly,
it’s all about me.
And just maybe, lately,
you’re the reason my
eyelids aren’t clumsy.
Are we at repressed
confessions yet?
Oh, I’ll bite my tongue then,
apologize for premature
idealization.
I stumbled in, lumbering
heavy conscience in tow.
But I’ll exit ever so lightly,
empty after everything.
Ian had it right the whole time,
eight says it all.

The Avenger

Interest piqued, since declined
but stockpiling rejections seem to define
every word my empty lungs
find, breathe, or mutter
and among my mind’s clutter
rejection is just another four letter word.
Now I see that you’ve been
leaving your name at the door
since day one.

Never Have I Ever

sleeves rolled up
only question:
puddle or pool.
I’m collecting; collected.
Not the right sentiment at all.

Craig's List

Stiff drink,
you made me at numb.
I thought I loved you.
Missed connections.

Woe

Bite tongue tightly, unnecessary
but polite. She knows.
Seating arrangements
not close enough for comfort.
One kiss captured, stored
for future recollection
and hopeful repetition.
After professions of
damn near obsession
came the solitary six.
Isolation, cut outs.
Same page, different books
no longer known territory.
Always left to wonder.
Fear in numbers, or
in this case a single letter.
Post script attempt,
proved moot at best.
I’m glad you aren’t as perceptive
as you seem to think, or at least
polite enough to spare me.
You know.