WANTING TO FALL

how i envy the trees
right before their leaves
begin to fall.

as if every drop of warmth
were something magnificent,
worth savoring,
something true
and real, and
beautiful.

if you listen close enough
you can hear their necks stretch
and eyes close
as arms reach up
in topiary approval.

how i dream to get lost
in such simplicity
and hold a day
like a gift
a friend had scent
from far off
as of this morning.

i want to lose myself
in an evening.

rest my body
inside my mind
from a life without commitment.

i use to be afraid
of being alone
which would guarantee
ending up that way.

the way that
the fear of heights
is really the fear
of wanting to fall.

but now i invite solitude
in like a guest
and share my bed
with the idea of it being filled.

and wake to the sound of a tree,
gently tapping at my window.

CABIN FEVER

i'd rather be in love
for all the wrong reasons
then be with someone
for all the right ones.

so this is how it goes:

everyone moves out west
only to miss
the changing of the seasons
then come back to visit
to justify their leaving.

complain about the cold
drive too fast
on an old dirt road
as if leaving were
a way to forget where
they came from, and

sunshine were an answer
someone shouted
from the top of a hill
so everyone turned to listen.

i guess i've grown so alone
that the thought of someone
putting up with me
must in turn mean that they're
crazy.

maybe my heart has cabin fever
and chops self esteem like firewood
to keep warm and insecure
close the curtains and lock the doors,

so underused that it refuses to leave
the tiny shelter it crafted for itself.

for one frozen year after another
much colder than the one before.

AND MAYBE I'M SPEAKING OF LOVE WHEN I SAY


it's just not worth it anymore,
healing the sting of loneliness
while filling a space in my bed.

i'd rather be sick instead,
holding onto everything real
with both hands, negating
the realness with the fear
of losing it completely.

and i can't stand
such paradoxes anymore,
submitting to love
while love lets go.

i can't juxtapose
in such ways knowingly,
pretending i don't care
for someone i do, or
pretending to care
for someone i don't.

i'd find a happy medium
if i believed in happiness...

but i let go instead
never feeling so alone.

telling someone to "fuck off"
that i really just want to hold.

in hopes i'd fill the space
where the rest of me grows old...

'cause i've never been
blonde, or dumb, or young

but think too much
on the simplest of things.

i love you,
and always have

and so what if it translates into
"i like your hair."?

NATS

first day of fall
and the nats still hover
in little clumps
above the sidewalk.

i wonder if they
know that they're annoying
flying at head level,

charming in their insecurity,
raised above the divide

like a prayer to the middle
of my life.

most of my time
is spent reflecting
on the past
while never feeling
reminiscent.

it's a gift to go
after tomorrow with
horse blinders on.

so i move through them
without lifting my head.

and smile while they brush pass.

appalled at my ease
in the face of uneasiness

i take the same road home,
i always take the same road home.

PROBLEMS WITH WOMEN

i guess that
i blame it on my mother

my problems with women.

and not that attaining
the unattainable
would fill the spaces

she never loved me in...but
i try anyway, shocked

at being both self aware
and consumed.

acknowledging weakness
like picking a scab in protest,
something that would heal otherwise.

that's why i'll always
test a girl that i want
to be with.

slowing down the car
on an interstate, pulling
over and piling out into

a field worth existing for,
then rolling in the grass infectiously

as if we'd somehow die without it.

and if she doesn't come with
i'll stop calling her.

and if she asks me
"what are you doing?"
i won't talk to her ever again.

standards are made such ways,

and love is a bar
i can't set high enough.

THE MISTAKE

one day the world
tapped me on the shoulder
to tell me that i was a mistake,

like water boiling over
or leaving an iron on.

he said everything was perfect
but he went out to smoke a butt
and came back to find me there.

"sorry if you feel out of place,"
he said, "you can stop trying
to make sense."

man,
i've never felt so relieved
in all my life.

THE LAST GREAT METAPHOR

when the last
great metaphor is all used up,
my heart will make a sound
like the world's largest
match shoved into a dixie cup
full of yerin.

NO ONE EVER WANTS TO GO SEE THE SUNSET

though it went to bed
like a chinese lantern
spilling out in phosphorescence

and it bled into the water,
pastel sidewalk chalk
running in the rain.

i love the way
things begin again

as if there weren't an end.

in the morning we will
all be a slightly darker
shade of brown,

as if the skin remembered.

the sheets of a bed
holding a shape tattooed
or a patch of lawn who
refuses to grow.

what could possibly have brought us here?

the vessel of our demise
dark and encumbered, but with
tendrils of light
pulling tight like a string,

we're always
making do with such painful instruments

so we play a song of freedom.
a song to bring us back again

YOU CAN TALK ABOUT IT BEING FOR THE BEST


learning lessons
the hard way,

falling
so out of love with yourself
that you feel like
you deserve mistreatment.

it's easier in the long run
fixing someone else
then labeling it "love".

the way a price machine
remains at .89 cents
and you tag a miles worth
of soup cans the same.

it's comforting though isn't it?

acknowledging faults
while living them.

pocketing your down falls
then pretending to be surprised
when that pair of jeans goes on again.

i look at the things
that got me here
and open my heart to idiocy.

raising a glass to pain
i say goodbye to loving
what destroys me.

the best thing about the future
is that it always starts tomorrow

SPACES BETWEEN TWO BREATHS

i'd trade it all
for a taste of the world

and revel in the moment
where it travels to my lips.

small deliberate bites
and chew in subtle wonderment.

i could fall in love
with you i think
in the spaces between
two breaths.

where ocean meets land
and sand is the bridge to the gap.

some nights
can wash over you so slowly
that they explore
every inch of who you are.

like how the ocean
falls in love with a crevice
and maps your body with salt.

i reach out my arms
to grab the air
lost in believing it's tangible,

surprised each time
my fingers are passing through

then tipping my hat
to the world.