As disheveled as clean cut
in artificial silhouette,
too late
for relativity to matter.
The window approaches,
with creaks and groans
that some year before
would have recognized so much better.

Sounds locked into memory,
along with pain,
climbing stairs slowly,
lacking just the right amount of certainty.
Hesitation a moment before
stops mattering a moment after,
only left to wonder
what is left now.

So closed eyes try to complete the task,
out of focus and dancing,
all black and blue,
too fresh for scars.
Dreams serve more to shake and alarm
than to calmly guide,
they are wisely fleeting
with the rest of the world.

Silence only adds
to this kind of chaos,
as the inferno breathes
the same as you and I.
The blanket and the pillows
don’t know who to trust,
though they never
asked for much in the first place.

In the end, rest is left
running until fear sees
its reflection in a mirror
and pauses everything.
Here, infinity holds a secret:
proximity, it whispers,
has never before
healed a wound.

cracked, speckled sidewalks
sit still on warm spring days,
travel quickly on cool spring nights.
are we led by the paths laid before us,
or are the cracks all our own?
I am always asking questions
without answers or reason
beyond awkward attempts
at another course –
forward or backward –
to a world where
I felt something more
than broken ground
beneath my feet.

No words.
Just a pleasant poison
and background noise.
Waiting
– to get over love
to get over fear,
for another set;
making everything
bigger than it is.

a peaceful cup of
peppermint tea,
wrap your heart in
something warm.
sirens are sounding,
Doppler effect
applies to life
as well.

treadmill
running
punishing
awake in bed
turning
exhausting
time travel
flashes
in technicolor
roll over
still there
accidental marathon
no water
no line
no supporters
just me
that phone call
that email
that conversation
tomorrow
or three years ago
it never happened
never will
nightmares and
documentaries
fragile film
impossible to destroy
self
destruct
construct
visions, fears
roll over
still there
screaming
loving
roll over
still there
pace changing
fighting
falling
asleep
without you.

blank pages
and superstitions
i always know the mistake
i’m about to make.
i think about it
deeply.
i decide against it
and do it anyway.
i’m sure
i’m not the only one.
i am no match
for myself
or my superb ability
to reason.
i am a creature confused
hungry
preparing for winter
forever and always.
searching for what’s warm
and abundant
in my dreams.
it’s time again –
time to know
i’m wrong.
and woefully committed
to not changing
course.
in the midwest,
seasons fade
every day.

People
outside windows,
on benches, standing,
behind tables,
or walking
briskly.

Buildings
stretching, reaching,
a little too ambitious,
a little too close,
invading every
space.

Parks
mostly fenced in,
locked away,
but one sprawling,
suggesting
beauty past.

Noises
always somewhere,
or everywhere,
a new understanding,
a ninth grade
vocab word.

Trains
lurching forward,
jerking backward,
winding, weaving,
moving lives
in different directions.

Me
wandering, wondering
with a gaze
toward reflection
on my life
as a city.

a spark, to a flame, to a fire
tended for two and a half years.
i stared with wide eyes of a child,
having never seen something so raw,
have never felt something so warm.
i stood close, too close
and sometimes was burned.
but no storm, no rain or wind
was going to conquer that fire!
i would be there, always and forever.
i had no doubt, only fear
that something terrible would happen
if i relaxed, if i changed,
if i took my eye away for one second.
but the natural phenomenon was no longer natural –
its flames ceased dancing,
its pleasant heat faded and fled,
its beauty ripped harshly from the world.
now i’m still standing, just a few feet away,
staring, hoping, dreaming
but shivering cold.
it’s a hard way to learn:
even young love needs oxygen.

the sun’s warm
against my head-cold.
staff meeting in 30 minutes.
an office with no natural light
for hours and hours more.
we apologize for this inconvenience.
thank you for riding.

unreturned emails and calls
years and miles apart
in heart and mind.
wounds heal,
but scars last forever.