Fan in the trees

June, is warm and lazy,
Ending in green,

So many potential lovers
Which I check off as taken
As soon I develop a crush.

The fall is too deep,
even though I have become an expert
At crawling out of the 1000 foot rock pit.
I’d rather not,
I’ll stay here…

On this ledge,
with my back faced away,
admiring the sunset.

My mind remains sane
by creating this imaginary boundary,
Fabricated complication,

I need all of the reasons
why it won’t work
All of the reasons
that it’s not meant to be,
Never happen,
Get over it.

Nothing that I could say

You are what you underline,
what you bookmark,
you are the songs
that bring the past to the present,

the first thing you do when you get home,
the last thing you say to your dog before you leave,
the shoes you wear out,
to their final thread

the things you observe are valuable,
don’t feel that your view of the world is wrong,
it’s different

Love is often
one sided,
if it is double sided,
it’s uneven

words will never
translate the heaviness

I am still dissecting you,
every eye movement,
the pattern of your speech,
as if trying to come to a conclusion
in my favor

This is what led to my break,
I wanted so badly to have you
that I made it happen in a dimension
unknown to others,
my imagination.

Love is an act of madness

Another New York love poem

New york is for the strong willed,
to get billed,
for standing still.

I will not stand,
walk or run.
I won’t reach for a gun
I will prosper.
Even if I’m lost, or

New york is for the open.
A coffee shop to hope in.
Love will find it’s way.
Don’t assume he’s gay.
There is no way,
when he looks at you,
without words to say.

Please stay, when you get here.
I don’t want to be here,
isn’t clear?
New York is where I’ll find something or someone
to hear.

A strangers poem

Today, with an urge to communicate
I asked a stranger to write a poem.
And asked another, and another.
They were surprisingly open
and willing.
And I made friends in the process.
It’s endearing to witness
the openness that remains after
a person you just met writes down their thoughts
for you.

Follow at

The mundane

the permanent state of boredom
is causing an apathy towards life.

Before arriving here,
I had such a passion
towards the everyday.
The person.

Grass wasn’t just grass,
grass became a wondrous spectrum
of intricate dewy blades.
Each of great importance,
which so often gets unsaid.

The ability to,
do things of my choosing
my love for
the mundane
lessen these walking blues.

I eagerly wait.
Wait for something
that is not translatable to words.

Wait for another curse.
It’s better to be unlucky,
than luckless.