Category: poetry
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not just asking, this time.
when i was thirteen, i stood at the base of a wooden tongue, night, no rain, and watched as lightning plowed its fingers into the ocean, sand, touched down, and i felt the world drop away, maybe this would be the way to end things, convinced, i ran an entire mile, between purple bolts, lattice…
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you had your year.
it’s not enough to revise any length of days or events in rewind. you were beating your head against the cemetery wall, and that was then, then now, and when an ecstatic snowfall of fireworks triggered the first smile felt in so long, that was then, then now, and if you think you can have…
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corner pocket, 2018
corner pocket, corner pocket, corner pocket, i called it. this game of 9 ball started in mid-March, that was the break. the thunderbolt, sledge hammer that shattered the rack, dissolved the pact, sent numbers spinning. and i blinked, missing the moment where the 1 got away, a sly ghost-out into the side. but…
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we lasted through winter.
i was sideways, asleep, or thought i was, between them, worried what if i would never feel this way again. morning just starting to peak. wouldn’t make its way through those blinds for a good bit, no use for the future. just an indication seeping in through kitchen windows. catastrophic gold. in love, two times…
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my friend.
i was sitting on a stranger’s futon, counting sheep, when one happened to wander from the fence. came on over and bummed a smoke. helped itself to some wine. bright white and so very cloudy. after an hour or so, i felt that talking to a sheep couldn’t be any more crazy than watching one…
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i am a lefty.
So I remember that certain sixth grade school in Santiago, where it was dictated that all children complete their written assignments strictly in fountain pen. Insert cartridge. Tap the tip long enough to make it wet. Get to work. Always what was assigned, rote. Always what was demanded, always cursive. And my born, raised and…
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you were welcomed.
So you heard of a place called New Orleans. And you were welcomed. Free license to walk the streets, a thousand or so back pocket pamphlets. You helped yourself to the food, possibly undertipped. Complained while complimenting. Took the tours, some of you without any intention of learning. Spoke the word “plantation” with a wistful…
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at the gates.
sat myself outside. red steps. back against a closed door. cigarette. Jack Daniel’s. music still bumping, catching a row of bikes parked against the fairground fence. and what was on my mind… 6:25, here’s how the air feels on a perfect day, taste of a willow tree. sun at a lower level, some 71 degrees.…
notes from a never-was. 