Strangers

He grows inside someone he does not recognize.
The brief awkward moment that happens
when two land-locked lovers touch toes,
both yearning for the sea-like navy life.
Feeling alive with every pen stroke, every mark:
births a new idea.
Antecedents only to each other,
drawing, giving birth to a connection.
Becoming a part of a legend with a jagged ledge
that fingers caress legibly.
Lips give life to wafts of clouds in a chapped, blistering cold.
So cold that nose hairs freeze when breath,
so damn cold eye juices turn to tiny ice cubes.
He placed them in his whisky glass and filled it with mourning.
As the sun rises over the moment frozen in time,
it’s so peaceful here.
Pines and aspens point to their mother,
snow muffles the grass’ purpose.
The deepest creases aren’t the ones
marked by sleds, skis, and boards
but the one pressed by tears streaming down cheeks.
A daughter sinks into a corner,
crying little tiny ice cubes
as her daddy plays real-life war games.
He grows inside someone he does not recognize,
and they wish each other goodnight from their separate sides.
Like strangers on a hotel bed.

The Taste of Morning

Time's knife slides from the sheath,
as fish from where it swims.

Being closer and closer is the desire
of the body. Don't wish for union!

There's a closeness beyond that. Why
would God want a second God? Fall in

love in such a way that it frees you
from any connecting. Love is the soul's

light, the taste of morning, no me, no
we, no claim of being. These words

are the smoke the fire gives off as it
absolves its defects, as eyes in silence,

tears, face. Love cannot be said.

I want...

I want you to know what it feels like
To have your first kiss
Those volcanic butterflies that
Stumble in your stomach
Stirring stand-still feelings that stop you from hesitation
I want you to know what it feels like
To drive your first car
Hands gripped tight to the wheel,
Trembling, quivering, head-on-a-swivel-kind-of-excitement
Thirst for the open road and where it will go, what-will-you-know-kind-of-feeling.
I want you to know what it feels like to hold your diploma at graduation
Finally fulfilling preceding expectations
Wiping from your face the condensation
Ready to take your first steps alone into the nation.
I want you to know what it feels like
To travel,
To meet strangers become family
To dance on wet soil, surrounded by shadows from a midnight campfire
(Too wild and alive to be extinguished).
I want you to know what it feels like
To hold a lover’s hand
To feel safe in enveloping arms, to feel topless and secure
To feel the electrified empty spaces between a fingertip to your lower back.
I want you to know what it feels like
To hold your first child and let them know that everything’s gonna be alright
That the monsters and boogeymen are simply noises and shadows.
I want you to assure them, with your caressing, comforting words
That you’ll always be there and they need have no fear
With your voice oh so near.
I want you to know how it feels
To watch your children grow old
Like daisies on steroids
Feelings your experience grow taller as your bones grow smaller and your love spreads over our family
Like a blanket for cover
I don’t want you to know what it feels like, however,
To sit in a hollowed-out church shell
Watching your family fill the rows
Knowing what will happen next
Drowning in tears
Knowing you were the one we turned to for smiles
Knowing you played the violin
Only because I do
Knowing your favorite sign was of peace
Only because mine is
And all those times I ignored your calls
I want you to know how sorry I am.
I want you to know how much I love you
And I want you to know
How much
I
Want
You
Back.

Balloon

Those words
Rolled around in her mouth and spat into her hand, slathered with poison and painted with provocation...
I know them all too well.
They stab like a tiny silver pin puncturing the skin of a rubber balloon,
It starts slow, the metallic point driving and delving deeper into the sphere
The globe bends and stretches, trying to accommodate to the fiendish play
And then
Just as quickly as she came, the pin becomes a perpetrator, an assassin
The balloon implodes
It withers
It wrinkles
It writhes in pain
Wondering what could have happened
Wondering what I could have done differently to prevent this from happening.
Those words
Wafted and whispered, warmly cloaking frigid neck hairs standing on end
I know them all too well.
I know that it’s better to let the phone ring
I know it's better to push you from my mind
But when I see how easily I was pushed from yours
A part of me wants to become blind, so I wouldn't have to live one more moment
Knowing
How insignificant I was to you
Congratulations on your marriage.
I’m happy too
Thanks for asking.

The Box

She stares at her reflection now in the mirror.
It’s so different than what it was…
has it already been almost three years?
Slowly her eyes caress what used to be her face in a photo adjacent to the mirror.
Now, the rugged reflection sitting in front of her
shows only bulges and dripping eyeliner.
Frigid, wiry hair stands stubbornly erect,
ignoring any rules of gravity.
Her withered hand nears her face
as a steaming cigarette is enveloped by two white, crunchy lips.
She inhales the smoke from that cigarette as if it were her last breath.
Again, her eyes graze the reflection spitefully as her expression hollows.
Times were easier back then.
Even the most severe fights in the photograph seem serene in this atmosphere.
She remembers the smell of moist dew on the grass in the mornings
and the cool breeze from the thunderous nightfall
wafting its way through the screen.
Now, the smell that infests her nose is a stagnant,
torpid stench of cigarettes and spilt whisky.
Even the air suffocates in here,
wrapping itself around this square box of a room.
Cars pass outside her box.
Her eyes veer from the mirror to the glass
as she allows a brief thought of curiosity to escape her mind.
Where were they all going?
She got up from her knees,
forcing her eyes to stay away from watching her body rise in the mirror.
She already knew what they would see.
The cigarette smoldered the pockets of air as she walked.
She neared the cracking door like a spirit to their grave:
hesitance overwhelmed her.
She knew who would be on the other end once the splitting wood panel was creaked open.
Even so,
the malicious cigarette was dropped to the floor and suffocated by a heel,
and she curled her fingers around the cold, brass handle.
Every twitch in her body became apparent.
The doorknob became harder and harder to turn
with each raspy breath that escaped her lungs.
She knew who would be on the other end.
The wailing hinges seemed to reflect her sorrow at whose eyes would be meeting hers.
She looked up from her box,
smoke fled the room like citizens from a fire,
and in an instant her lips creased into what seemed to be a smile.
She outstretched her palm,
exposing her unusually hairy arm,
and walked out of the box,
one step at a time.

Holy Grail

Well I've seen bad, an' I've seen good
An' I've seen a balance of the two
But ne'er before have I seen such blaze
As that I've seen from you.
An' I've seen good, an' I've seen evil
Sometimes I see evil more
But I tell you that it's neither of them
That makes me quite this sore.

So came a knockin' the other day
One asked for a sip of tea
Maybe good news, maybe the booze
Maybe the soul of me.

Now if you found a Holy Grail
Would you drink its wine?
Would you pray for heaven's gifts?
Would you drink its brine?
Would you sell it to the devil
In trade for his soul undone?
Would you give it for a life?
Would you trade it for The One?

Well I've seen heaven, an' I've seen hell
An' I've seen Earth between
But ne'er before have I seen such days
As the ones I've seen in me.
An' I've seen light, an' I've seen dark
Sometimes I've seen what's right
But I say it's none of them
I know is a certain might.

So Satan came knockin' the other day
Asked for a beer, or three
Maybe bad news, maybe the booze
Maybe the soul of me.

Now if you found a Holy Grail
Would you drink its wine?
Would you pray for heaven's gifts?
Would you drink its brine?
Would you sell it to the devil
In trade for his soul undone?
Would you give it for a life?
Would you trade it for The One?


Now there is light
And there is dark
And something in between
But if I'm right
I must embark
On a journey perchance to dream.

So I came knockin' the other day
Asked to speak with me
Maybe some news, maybe to choose
What I've come to be.

Now if you found a Holy Grail
Would you drink its wine?
Would you pray for heaven's gifts?
Would you drink its brine?
Would you sell it to the devil
In trade for his soul undone?
Would you give it for a life?
Would you trade it for The One?

Found this useful...

inside-digital.blog.lonelyplanet.com/2009/12/01/27-travel-tips-or-how-to-get-more-out-of-your-trip/


interesting things to keep in mind..=)