salt tears.

if i were to read the sentences that marked our lives
you would be the comma of a breath taken
life leads us into the fragility of human form
and there are no words to say what is felt
there is expression of face and hand and eyes
it was sad he said
in a way to mark his tears
but the moment watered down
to pale white
and the compromise left it salty with memory.

poetry in compilation.

the window pointed to the street
call it a name
call it rollin hills and
backdrop sweet with fault lines and
road signs
the end of all end all and
you knew nothing about it
you stopped short of living
denied something of soul and
sweet life
populate the surface
sanctify the soil
you wouln't end up here long he said
willingly, take yourself whole and round
hold yourself still
still you will see there is more to this life then
breaking ground against your knees
pray
believe to disbelieve everything
that no one and everyone seamed to know was right and good
and oh! so bad
your mind is clever and able
she was the woman you had waited in lines for
at bar dives and picket fenced in garage sale signs
you took to her solid and frothing
like you knew she had the fight and the breath and the sound
you had waited all your life to hear
music
but had you known then that she was you
would you have followed her so patiently?

salvations army of hope

a keeper of a day
she wanted nothing to do with his silence
written less walls and papers white
she wanted the hole to remain large
where he kept her waiting
on bus tickets and overpriced blue jeans
she couldn’t say for fact that love had come down to its finest moment
over beer spackled rings of onion layers
and the dripping soaked napkins of grease
a moment defines itself
and reappears in new motive
she was the wonder of her life
wandering around the questions as she liked to remain in bafflement
he stayed on the left side of the road
the diner across the street kept his order by memory
and his fingers always stained themselves tar honey brown
if she couldn’t live complete in him, then who could she
the moment you hear the sound of the 6wheeler catching up to your rearview mirror
you know you’ve lost your chase
the slow down to peddle
makes the metal of your rings clink together oddly
and that’s when you know you’ve ended up alone
without a keeper of your days
to tell you where you’ve been
and just how long you have stared out that breakfast joint window
and when did he say he was coming back
after the rain
after the darkness turned to sunrise
after the waitress kicks you out
and you beg for one last coffee to go
you realize then you never did drink coffee
it was his word against your own
and now
out on the curb
the heat of styrofoam warming you down to lungs
deep into your pit of a stomach
nauseous with fact
the horn wakes you with conscious
the old man
with the rimed hairline
sticks his tongue out
loops it around in the air
and slithers it back in again
gesture to you and your lonesome face
“honey you want a ride”
but you were no honey
and somebody’s kid
if only you could remember at what point
if ever you said goodbye
and how you became the wait
in line
the drugstore ile five
greeted you with maxi pads
and then you realized you weren’t bleeding
hadn’t bleed
for months
and this time you coudnt get
back on the bus
and into the blue jeans that favored your reflection
time had warped you into twenty five years to long
if you were to say
it was always his silence that turned you on
turned desolate into salvations army of hope
but no memory could keep your face
and even tar stains forgetful smells
the only memory worth repeat

i feel fragile here.

i feel fragile here
my skin soaked deliberately in the water that has lacked in presence
so confined ive been within four walls and a view
tonight i witnessed my own insanity
the pulse that aches into emotion
with the resulting outcomes of holding in and holding on
the land feels exposed to the wetness
as i am exposed to myself
ive missed the rain
the way it holds on and quivers against the release
they say the skies know when it is time to weep
sometimes i too feel myself slipping
the fears grow inside of me up through my belly from the root of unconsciousness
they spread over the dinner table
that is surrounded by a home which has always structured the perimeters of my life
this memory becomes beautiful
with no room to be anything then what it has already been
there is nothing to expand on here
to grow me out into longer years
i have to say goodbye to this part of me
that eases into this space of comfort to tight to bare in any length