new poem |
When will all the war end.The fabric that is woven, is too too thin. Working late into the hoursI listen to the sounds that give way For the night lends it's warmth to thoseWho work, toil for the bett...
Posted by on Sun, 22 Feb 2009 21:09:00 GMT |
blockade |
Making a house into the street of love can take so so long. Who knows what will come tomorrow, but we still keep breathing.The lungs move with ever changing speeds. Drum beat.Face the day with a look,...
Posted by on Fri, 05 Dec 2008 05:30:00 GMT |
night after hard work |
All of us laughing. Telling stories. About how we first met each other. Drinking in circles.The masks slowly slide away like blankets revealing the bodies underneath. Here in the hour usually reserved...
Posted by on Tue, 29 Jul 2008 00:59:00 GMT |
Prayer for spring under the pavement |
The low hum of my voice inside my head,Sings to the sweet frost on the window pane;Offering up a prayer for warmth. There is a melting that takes places around this time Every single year that I&rsquo...
Posted by on Sat, 22 Mar 2008 14:22:00 GMT |
Nothing keeps nothing |
There is a room down somewhere with a closet that smells of moth balls. There is an old pair of pants in the room and an old shirt in the closet. It is closed. The door is shut. The light is broken.Th...
Posted by on Fri, 08 Feb 2008 14:03:00 GMT |
an old bush in a new snow. |
Pieces of the branches that hang over my head, white highways of new cold as I pass under them like a kid searching for his new hideout. Needing a new fort I go on walks. Looking for lookouts I sneak ...
Posted by on Wed, 06 Feb 2008 07:47:00 GMT |
The old farmhouse where I lost you. |
You go out walking on a path.In the woods behind an old farm house.You say "We should talk".There are owls somewhere hidden out here.It's not our land, not our forest. We are trespassing through it al...
Posted by on Sat, 29 Dec 2007 10:27:00 GMT |
The past. The clock. The lie. |
Stroke past midnight and the clock creaks on the wall.There is nothing here that reminds me of my home.My room that I shared with my brother. I'd throw pillows at him then call to my parentsSaying tha...
Posted by on Thu, 27 Dec 2007 02:02:00 GMT |
up and under |
Singing with old friends. Talking about old loves. Making sure they don't make the same mistakes. Floating between the ranks at the bar, getting looked over and passed over for another round. It doesn...
Posted by on Thu, 27 Dec 2007 01:59:00 GMT |
rosy minded folks |
I'm getting tired. I've never been fired. Yet, there has always been apart of me that wants to be fired. Walk out on the job that has striped me of life, energy and time. Walk out on all the shit that...
Posted by on Thu, 27 Dec 2007 01:46:00 GMT |
