Summer's Mourning

I spent a day in the garden
I spent minutes clicking the shutter
Light years in the sun staring at what it captured

I spent a day in the garden
A moment to share air with the leaves
A second to taste what they taste
To hold the winding stems and wiff
The cool breeze of fresh mint

 
My mother beckoned me to leave
But I clung to the weeds and thorns
Out of desperation. They were the only plants near. 
Just five more minutes in the garden? 


I spent the last five making wishes with rose pedals
Living dreams in the Lilies
And uprooting memories with the grinning orchids


There will be a time when I'm ready to go
When the daisies start to fall towards the ground because they can't stand the sight of me anymore;
It's not now though
Just 10 more minutes in the garden, mother?

 

I Thought You Left

You spent the night and replaced my eye-wrenching radio clock
with an analog circle. 
In it I see the roundness of your hazel eyes
much better in the morning. You took the time to clean my windows.
For that my plants stand tall and salute you, and I can finally see the sun
reflect off of the trails we traveled when I look outside.. 
On your way out you tucked the sheets in the bed frame
and tucked me tighter. At least this way I can still feel
something when I toss in my sleep. 

When most people come
All I have to do is wash their dishes down the drain
Or dump their garbage for another man
to pick up on Wednesday
But even after four washes with scent boosters and dryer sheets
I can still smell you on my pillow. 

It's been 3 weeks
Why can't I clean up the mess you've made?

Because You Left

Dust settles in along the countertops,
Redecorating the furniture to look like overcast
On a 1930’s TV.
What was once a living room is now a morgue
For muted memories, a greenjalihouse for plants
That forbids the morning sun.

Even music feels limp,
Like groaning sighs and drawn out yawns

It’s 43 degrees in May
Come back. 

Sestina Exercise (Sept.2015)

Life always finds a way to snatch
my treasures to make me below and curse
into the raging tumults
To below and curse at the thought of a woman
I can feel hands shifting the clouds; they belong to nature
and their tips are crisp and concrete coarse

I'm a bellowing broken boy running life's course
yanking my trachea out of my throat and extending it into the open air so I can barely snatch
oxygen to sustain what is so easily tarnished by nature
If my lungs permitted I'd curse
If I could hop the rigid roadblocks I'd recline in the thought of a woman
I'd quit running through the white noise of the wind and organic tumult
 
Amid my mental tumult
all my fingers feel coarse
By no means are these the tools with which I wish to caress a woman
but what am I to do when life snatches
me from my volition. Don't worry I didn't swear I never curse
I just yielded to nature. 
 
It's not in nature's nature
to just wipe the sky clean and bereft of tumult
There's a curse lurking in orbit with the earth
and it runs a rampant course
It runs alongside you and I and just when you think you can snatch
it away it manifest in the form of a woman
 
I've chased this curse of a woman
and her eyes glow stronger than the most azure berries found in nature
I always thought one day I could snatch
the root of my incessant tumult
but it'll always be an empty course
and she'll always be a running curse
 
Life'll always have a running curse
but sometimes you'll get to embrace and feel the tingling warmth of a woman
There are water breaks and cheering fans on the sidelines of the course
Amid the dark dense dismal clouds of nature
and all of its cruel tumult
you'll feel glimmers of light, even if it be just a snatch. 

Lost and Found

I want feel the soft embrace of wind graze my shaven cheeks--
to be soaring through the feathery stream of nature's touch

I yearn to feel the searing singe of seduction seeping through my lukewarm heart.
I don't recall what it's like to feel fingers set me aflame then chill like a glaciers touch

I speak to empty vessels that have minds like frail hands--
they can't hold anything. Discourse with year long friends feels like a stranger's touch

My fingers are chilly pepper red from an itching rash stems from my listless mind
They seek to messy a canvas, to erect a sculpture, to feel the creator's touch

Your scent leaves scarlet rose petals along the bridge of my nose
I have a fever when you’re near and the chills when you’re away
Your hands have beauty scars from carrying stories
No one told me the creator, muse, and canvas could exist harmoniously in the same body
Will you be my greater, my major, my savior's touch?

Somber Boy (Sept.2015)

I can see you floating in your doldrums, somber boy
Slowly drifting, drifting, drifting into the chasm
Of white light and crumbling joy. 
Cherish your sorrows; pleasure too grows pale without them.

Somber boy, your limbs could stretch and tear but she’ll never love you. 
Your fingertips could kiss
But she’ll never hold you. 
Coil your fingers and hold yourself; no greater love exist.

Somber boy, your chin’s the weight of steel
Your countenance is drooping and the day’s just begun. 
With your visions tunnel clogged with stranger’s heels. 
How can you expect to ever see the sun

Remember the dismal piercing pain you thought had no end
Time, somber boy, is your friend.