poems are lyrics
to the songs inside my head
you will never hear

music fills a room
like a heart fills up a chest

listen.  breathe.  listen.

summer ghosts roam the islands
floating through flesh and bone
winter ghosts haunt the highlands
where lonely travelers are never alone

spring ghosts dance in the midlands
leaping through hearts like flame
and autumn ghosts chant in the woodlands
where the song is never the same

your hands are doorways to my home.  take a
look inside.  dawn spills into the hall, onto
the wall, splashing across pictures filled with
yesterdays and naked space left over
for tomorrows.  time pulls and pulls, stretching
and stretching until the shadows are so
long they cover everything and all light
has surrendered and retreated in shame.

i wanted to write something about your
energy and how i like being in
its halo.  something about how i want
to dive beneath your sun-kissed surface and
feel what makes your heart beat.  the metaphors
aren't quite right and the flow is off but then
again, emotions often live between
the words so i guess this is what i want
to say after all.  please pardon the mess.

lovers between the rocks
on a remote part of the shore
with sand in their locks
and pain to explore

their skin changes hue
pink and then gold
before they vanish into
night's twinkling threshold

the fair queen held her bouquet of white and
pink mums so closely to her heart, the loose
petals clung to her mother's blue dress like
sequins. nature's perfect touch as she saw
mom smile at the back of the school gym. then
she was gone. the crowd watched as tears trickled
over the fair queen's cheeks as she began
to proudly wave. but it wasn't for them.

clicking tap shoe echoes
through a hall of mirrored stages
a million miles of sold out shows
fill his worn out pages

the book is near complete
the curtain is descending
his ears know no defeat
for the applause goes on, unending.

baby owl faces.
next world of forgotten air.
timepiece creatures work.

times square, 1975. leather-
jackets and spandex criss-cross under blink-
ing bulbs. a **** in blue fur spits at a
taxi that didn't stop. a man in a
black suit and red tie brings his briefcase in-
to the $1 peep show. a hustler
orders 3 a.m. bacon and eggs at
his favorite diner. a tourist takes
a picture of a stiletto-heeled
stranger and she smashes his camera
into the curb. profanities harmon-
ize with car horns. a wanna-be poet
scribbles on a coffee-stained notepad as
he walks hurriedly by. snow begins to
fall. an old man with a cane vanishes
into an alley, behind a flutter-
ing curtain of white. a shivering boy
from across the river tries to choose from
a parade of smiling red lips the one
that will make him a man. an elegant
woman in a green coat takes a drag off
a virginia slim, casually ex-
haling into the ivory-spotted
night air. a street magician loses his
rabbit and watches helplessly as it
hops in front of traffic, the snow reflect-
ing off headlights and sticking to its fur
like glitter.  it stops between cars, then boun-
ces again, reaching the other side.  a
quiet winter miracle on the deuce.

blue-collar artists
that's what we all are, looking
for perfect beauty

tiniest fractions
of lost time, framed and frozen,
warped by perception

the ring didn't fit quite right
but when she told him
it was simply too tight
the light in his eyes got a little less bright

"what do you mean?", he asked
"it's a little uncomfortable", she said
and his face appeared downcast
as if he'd just learned that a loved one had passed

"it's very beautiful, though", sensing his dismay
but then he surprised her
when he spoke urgently, without any delay
"what, exactly, are you trying to say??"

she didn't understand
she was taken aback
by some issue at hand
brought to light by an ill-fitting gold band

"um, just that the ring doesn't fit"
his silence she could feel
deep in her stomach's pit
so with tears in her eyes, "no really, that's it"

"yeah that's it", he exclaimed
and walked away angry
with her left ashamed
and confused for being blamed

a rain began to fall
soon she was soaked
standing there, feeling so small
right in the eye of this sudden squall

then she felt something had gone
so she held her hand up
to inspect the finger it was on
it had slipped off and was somewhere on the lawn

she searched in vain for the ring's reflected shine
but just when she finally gave up
the rain ended, which was clearly a sign
that everything, anyway, was going to be fine.

i started the morning like a champ by
spilling grape nuts all over my kitchen
and i don't know if you've ever done that
but i wouldn't wish it on my very
worst enemy because apparently
loose grape nuts are indistinguishable
from shattered glass when you step on them with
bare feet and i know no matter how good
a job i do cleaning it up there will
always be a random grape nut around
and that made me think about whoever
lives in this apartment next will wonder
where the grape nuts came from and that puts a
smile on my face so i guess that means there
is in fact balance to the universe

empty bar.  silence.
hot sake.  frosted window.
snow in hokkaido.

i am a strand
a single strand
a single strand of soul
that reaches deep into the earth
and out into space
a single golden strand
growing to infinity
long after the body is left

stranded

nothing like an unexpected embrace,
a gift of surprise affection, to teach
you how to embrace the unexpected

there was no full moon tonight. clouds covered
the stars and the only thing she could see
through the back door window was her own pale
reflection.  the red lipstick she wore looked
smudged in the contours of the glass. her son
was sound asleep upstairs and her husband
wasn't home yet. she was hungry and thought
she would sneak out for a bite.  it would be
quick, easy. a perfect dark for hunting.
she could change at will.  who needs a full moon.

michelangelo
the tip of his brush to the
tip of God's finger
the fulfillment of Man's dream
Creation through Creation

dead leaves in the pool
half-floating crumples of rust
waving, waving, wav-

he woke up, put on his mask and costume,
and left for the halloween party.  it's
very big, you see.  everyone is there.
every single day.  no one misses it.

got caught on a tree, just had to tell you
a branch drew blood, and on my arm printed
an entrance stamp to this special venue,
written in red: a place for the wounded.

“how are things going, i wish you were here
what’s the weather like and have a good time
how ‘bout a toast with your favorite beer
i hate to go now, it feels like a crime”.

something made me stop, i wasn’t yet done,
i looked back and saw, while nursing my scar,                    
the colors and shapes had blurred into one:
a singular vision, clear from afar.

the carved stones nestled in the grass, just mown
looked like lost feathers from a flock, just flown

the vampire hunter and his son
were like "lone wolf and cub"
if you know about that one

well they were always together
battling the undead
through all types of weather

then one fateful eve
they could not help but perceive
the shining blood moon meant war
they were not naive

outnumbered they were
and survival wasn't assured
but they battled and brawled
until it all was a blur

but when the smoke cleared
it was not as they'd feared
for all the fanged beasts
had been successfully speared

the hunter then turned to his boy -
victory! they both were about to enjoy
but the hunter saw something that made him a wreck
two tiny red holes in his child's perfect neck

for his son had been bitten
and so it was written
this would be his final dawn -
he was incurably stricken

fate was something they could not ignore
so they waited until the dark was no more
he vowed to always remember his son's final night
as they walked, hand in hand, into the sunlight

i'm a midwesterner, born and bred.  but
i lived in the neon dust bowl for a
little while and learned that open space is
good for the soul.  souls need to breathe, and roam
like horses over the sands.  i loved the
drive from Las Vegas to L.A. because
there's nothing like the desert wind in your
lungs to make you feel like living again.
something pulls me back to that time and place.
i don't know exactly why, but i guess

you just have to return to be reborn.

if emotions are music, then the mind
is the instrument we learn to play.  we
get better with practice, but every now
and then we hit a false note, and hope that
the audience has the heart to forgive.

overcast, slight chill
theater popcorn scent drifts
my footsteps echo

she wanted a new face
because everything in the mirror
looked completely out of place

everyone told her she was so lovely
but despite all of that
she wanted to be just a little less ugly

the doctor said, "your visage, i can improve!"
so he gave her a mask
that she could not ever remove

drowning in the leaves of summer
when past loves are like attic ghosts
conjured from blood and sunlight

air sticks to your tongue
and the moon rises late

then the night breeze blows in
and flutters the sheets
as you flow downstream

under the leaves

he stopped to rest along the creek and watched
the water slide by.  he closed his eyes and
the trickling sound soothed his ears.  breathing out,
he opened his eyes in time to see his
breath dissipate into the sharp air.  clean
winter sunlight touched his cheeks.  he noticed
a large stone at the edge of the water.
two smaller stones rested on top of it.
there was a space in-between the two stones.
he wondered if a third stone was once there.

and then he thought that the things we miss when
someone is gone, the things that come to us
in the quiet moments- the moments when
you watch the snow fall outside the window-
that is the essence of the one who has
left.  it is what they have left behind for
you to find, in the space between the stones.

motel window.  dusk.
dark blue.  streaking freeway lights.
rain.  empty room thoughts.

it was cold and sunny
and as i drove into my parents' neighborhood i saw
my dad walking the dog
i rolled down the window and shouted, "hello"

(the dog was so excited to see me)

my dad helped me with my taxes
and my mom said her scar from surgery was healing well

i later went to see a play
with only nine people in the audience
but the two actors were on fire

they both were eating apples
and one was smashed on the stage
underneath an angry character's foot

i stared at that crushed apple,
white and red concentric patterns
flattened into the brown stage floor
like a painting yet hung

a work of art
at the end of a cold and sunny day

we are good as friends
probably bad as lovers
but i want you still

raise a glass to them
those who love to give love make
a happy christmas

in the old garden
moonlight on the stone statue
head moves as you pass

roaming the vineyard
morning gold sparkles green grapes
breeze ruffles sundress

flaxen light streaks through the blinds and
the blackbird chorus starts to kick up as
the ninja movie on tv winds down,
the sting of steaming coffee on my lips.