Cause and Cause

With him
a r c h e d backs
and
s t r e t c h e d limbs
have a way of leading to
more
a r c h e d backs
and
s t r e t c h e d limbs
but she
hardly seems to mind...

Promises

Its so nice to have someone
to hold hands with on the train
I can promise to stay conscious
if you promise to stay sane...

Origami Sekkei

We are skilled practitioners
of human origami
with a lack of crisp folds,
but more a knitting of limbs.
Entwined and twisted
tangled together
like lianas
in the hot jungle
of the tonight

We Should Just Confess to Ourselves...

Remember that day
the one we spent writing dirty haikus?
We claimed it was for art,
for beauty, and nature,
and free expression
...but we both know we're liars...

Conchology, Entomology...

She has never been one
For collecting much of anything
Save for cataloging sighs
And the occasional sunbeam
That gets caught up in her hair
And decides its not such
A bad place to stay

Prefering canvass and brush
Or pen and pad
To chloroform and specimen jars
To numbered tags and stick pins
Stuck through never again moving limbs
Or never again flapping wings

So she'll capture her find
In a method that suits her
Then toss him back into the surf
To live free once more
But she certainly wouldn't lament
If he found his way back
to her stretch of sandy beach
During the next low tide.

Ten Paces to the Window

He paces through her mind all day
Back and forth in steady lines
Much like the paths he wares
Into the stained hardwood floor
When thinking
Or waiting
Or talking on the telephone
Don't pace so, boy
There you'll simply fall
To the floors below
But what would happen
Were you
To fall
Out of
My
Mind?

Longing

Its been a night of too many
acoustic theme songs
Each chord lighting
A flickering candle
That only a lover's satisfied sigh
Could ever extinguish
And voices seep in
splattering against cold walls
And trickle down
into my waiting hands
But none of them are ever
yours...

Haiku

his silken neckties
he ties around her pale neck
her skin soft as silk

You Know Nothing of Moon Maidens

He speaks to her
Of moon maidens
If only he knew
How many stars he makes her see...
He writes to her
Of moon maidens
If only he knew
How she wishes he was the moon
At least she gets
To see the moon nightly
through the cracked panes
of her dingy storm window

Catching Up...

I have about 400-gajillion poems that should type up and add on here, but being shut away in the wild woods of Wisconsin for a summer has a way of disrupting my posting process...the following are those poems from this summer that I recently located...more to come, I am certain of it.