Tag Archives: relationship

6th Anniversary (#323)

I graduated summa cum laude
With a major in Sorry
And a minor in Whatever You Say

You’ve asked me to go back to night school
I didn’t learn the material
Well enough

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Posted by on February 13, 2018 in new poetry


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You make me super (#316)

In a Vanity Fair poll, 19% of Americans responded that the superpower they would most want is invisibility. 19%. 3rd most.

I guess I should thank you, then. I already have that skill because of you. When I stand in front of you, ready to talk, you can see through me to the door on the other side of the room. I have also discovered your kind of silence, the type that convinces you that I am not even there. I am powerful. And it’s better than being bitten by a radioactive spider.

The top answer in the poll–telepathy. That you have not given me. The only mental telepathy I have with you is the ability to know that you prefer me invisible.

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Posted by on September 21, 2017 in new poetry


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Interlude #11 (#315)

Pointedly awkward silence

How did we…?

Funny story.  So yesterday I had a craving for a croissant.  Don’t know why.  Maybe Paris flashbacks.  Anyway, I decided to walk down to Moore’s bakery cause I figured if I was going to eat a croissant I probably needed to get some exercise beforehand to start working it off.  You know where the stream runs along the side of the road and then veers off right around Wallace and there’s that little foot bridge?  There were two kids on the bridge, probably eight or nine and they were playing Pooh sticks, you know where you drop a stick on one side of the bridge and then run to the other side and see if the stream brings it back to you.  I used to play that with my little brother.  So I stood at the end of the bridge and watched for a bit.  The kids ceremoniously dropped their sticks and ran to the other side and waited.  But only one stick came out.  The blond kid’s.  The little brown haired boy’s stick never came out.  I guess the stream ate it.  I don’t know.  I left.  I had a bakery to get to.

What are we…?

The funny thing is, the bakery closes in the afternoon.  I never knew that.  Did you?  Well, lesson learned.  So I was croissant-less and that was the whole purpose of going so I didn’t want to go get an ice cream or anything else so I just turned back around to come home.

Why are you…?

Just wait.  When I got back to that little bridge the boys were still there.  I don’t think they are brothers, you know blond and brown hair.  Though they did kind of look alike with a mom-who-shops-for-both-at-the-same-time kind of thing.  They weren’t playing Pooh sticks anymore.  They each had a pile of rocks by their feet and they were taking turns, one at a time, and dropping them in the water.

What does this…?

I was a little hungry and frankly a bit tired of the walking and also a little curious so I went over to the boys and asked them what they were doing.  And the blond boy, I think the older of the two, at least the more confident, said they were aiming for the fish.  I said, aiming for the fish?  And he said, yea, but the big rocks make too big a splash so you can never see if you hit them.  But the little rocks kind of go sideways when they hit the water so you have to aim a little beyond the fish.

They go sideways?

Yea, kind of skimming through the water, sharp edges first.  I thought it was cool that a kid so young could figure out you had to aim away from the fish to hit it.  Smart kid.  So I watched for a while.  Pick the perfect rock, aim for one of the little fish, aim a little upstream, and then throw with their little boy arms.

You stayed and watched?

Yea.  And then the younger one, the brown haired kid, squealed.  He said he hit one.  They got real excited and I kind of did, too.  So we ran to the other side of the bridge to see what happened to the fish.


I don’t know.  It turns out a fish swimming downstream and a fish floating downstream because it’s dead actually look the same.  Funny story.

Pointedly awkward silence

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Posted by on March 23, 2017 in new poetry


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How I learned to lip read so well…(#311)

because it is rude
to turn on closed captions
when you ask me (every time)
to mute the TV
so I will focus on you
during our “talks

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Posted by on August 27, 2016 in new poetry


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July 22, 1991 (why Valentine’s Day is not February 14) (#308)

I traveled
beneath the shell
of the white chaos
of single life
searching inside for
color and
but finding neither

(the god of fate
and second chances)
took pity on me
and shot me with his arrow
that is

You spoke to me
in the language of kisses
and I found
the color inside
and the quiet inside

Now I feel no need
for Valentine’s Day
because the shell
that surrounds
is everyday
the voice of

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Posted by on April 6, 2016 in old discoveries


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Metro Line, 3rd Ave. stop                (published in Abbey, Sept. 1994)

“On a bus, I could love anyone.”
     –Michael Ryan

When we turn
I lean into it
Using my body weight
To keep from drifting away.
      That’s the natural inertia of our lives.
Every time I do this
It brings me closer to you.

You complain
That the shocks don’t work
And that the constant bumps
Give you a headache.
But I like the idea
That I can feel
The imperfections of the road.

The only thing I don’t like is
      My stop comes before yours
      And you never
      Follow me off.

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Posted by on December 8, 2013 in previously published


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afternoon to twilight

you stopped the cuckoo clock
between the third and fourth chime
grabbing the pendulum
and smothering it between your smooth hands

you said it had nothing to do
with aging

yesterday I gathered all the fingerprints
you have left on our walls
to compare them
with your fingerprints now

nothing has changed

but you won’t let me
restart the clock

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Posted by on November 30, 2013 in Uncategorized


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April/October                 (new)

Bring me the poison of your greenness
Broken angel breathing lust
I am dark in the morning
And a prisoner of my tomorrows

Your wild child bones
Will dance me free
               (broken angel breathing lust)
You are delicious
       steel and smoke
The daughter of the sky

Make me afraid
Not to die

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Posted by on November 25, 2013 in new poetry


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What do you see?                 (college)

I miss you.
I look into your eyes
Searching for a smiling reflection of me,
But see only a darkened doorway
With flickers of light
I don’t recognize.
Do you still love me?
I ask you
And you say, “Of course.”
But you sleep with your back to me
And so it seems to me
That we’re no longer
A couple
But rather two married automatons
Who live together.
I guess I have too much time to think
And too little time to talk with you,
But I miss the light
In your eyes
That used to come from my reflection.
Now I see myself
Only in shadows.
Am I going to just fade away?

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Posted by on October 15, 2013 in college


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Tonight’s Genesis

Once Eve ate of the fruit
It did not matter what Adam did
The skin had been broken
And the insides exposed
He could not take the fruit
And attach it back to the branch
So when Eve offered it to him
Juice probably already dripping onto the earth
There was no sense of hesitation
He willingly joined in
And discovered the power of shame

This story is so much bigger than mine
But all of my shame
Lies in the seed of that fruit
Planted long before
And flowering now in me
As I walk home
3 am
Through streets darker than I ever remember

And I know for the first time
This is now my life

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Posted by on September 18, 2013 in Uncategorized


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