Sweetness

Half a cup of
Honeybush tea
with a crust of
Cranberry Orange Cake
soaking it's
feet.

And I'd drink to that.

Helium

Boy, beautiful boy
when I talk to you I feel
like a bright red balloon
high above the world
steadfast in your long fingers
held by young hands until
the morning breaks
and you
finally
let me go.

Broke

I'd sell you bits of my
memories
an action figure here
a first edition there
if you'd give me
enough of the
root of all evil
to make it though
Christmas.

But you won't
because you can't
we're both sailing
in the boat
we thought was an
ocean-liner
plugging the holes
with the last three bucks
and fifty-two cents
we have left
between us.

Quiet Lives

Musinex covered baby
dancing in rainbow socks and
recliner leather
sleeping off two months spent
working too hard

Pooh pj princess
head wrapped and counting
the minutes until morning
quiches and holy heaven
hallelujahs

Curly headed heathen
drinking H2O and wasting
precious minutes of sleep
reading cupcake literature
and gossip columns

Each
somewhere between
living
and dying
dwelling
alone and
together
in the mystery
and uncertainty
that lies in the minutes
waiting for
dawn.

Sick

Burning pages in my
favorite book
one at a time
until the ending is gone
and I've only to wait
until it gets written again
in red crayon
on the back of a
Walgreen's receipt for
Sudaphed
at a quarter past
whenever

that's what it feels like
to be sick

I'm just waiting
for what if feels like
to be well.

Mausoleum

Dusting the tops of bookshelfs
and glass filled china cabinets
watching you make potstickers
talking about taking down the
curtains that she never seems
to notice have turned yellow
even if they're still white and
you're a little crazy in that
lovable 75 yeared Asian lady way

I move over to dust off your
husbands ash filled box
staring on in silence
as you pour oil in a pan
and I listen to the sizzle
of our simultaneous lives.

Come and See

dark hair curling on a
fontanel
buttered up to
your brand new
32 inch grin

and she said you're
not part of my
life
figment of the fantasy
I live in
two feet that should be
grounded
lofting in the condensed
white

it broke glass windows in
my house

because it was never about
you or me

it was always about her

2.5 years away
slowly letting go of a string
that i'll forever
be tethered to.

Reading Into

you say one thing
clear, to the point
direct

but you may mean
another

and I want to believe
you were being nice
encouraging me
praising me for a thought
you hadn't thought
before

but I get the feeling
I might be
wrong

I get the feeling you
don't really care
what I have to
say

and I don't no whether to be
hurt
or enthusiased
or accustomed
to the way
the world
works.

Parking Lot Avocado

Found you
sitting in the middle of an
asphalt dream

jumper

falling for the feel of
hot black pavement

oblivious

to the sun
to the sky
to the girl walking by
thinking maybe you're a

token

of good things yet
to happen, hopes waiting
open

wanting to be found
wanting to be loved
wanting to be filled.

Unexpected

I read somewhere
that you live in a
polyamorous
relationship.

And it shocked me.

Not because you might be able
to balance the requests of
the heart and the hammer

Or because you're such a
sly dog that you make
PB&J for three instead of two.

Nope, just didn't expect it.

And I know another couple
sweet as honey and tea
all three of them.

They do not shock me
and I see how sometimes
what isn't is

but you are not them
you have not held me crying
in open arms and listened to
me prattle away about
Jesus and coffee

you are miles
too high
too far
to reach

so I raise my brows
arched in the obligatory "oh"
for the knowledge that
some things still exist
that are quite
not what I guessed
or thought
or dreamed would be

unexpected.

Concept of Sleep

Clock beating the drum
live Jazz band playing Summertime
in my head

and I'd say it's insomnia
or frustration
or life's many kafuffles

but who am I kidding?

I simply do not see the point
All the fun stuff happens
when you're open
alert
alive

I'll get enough of the
40 winks when I'm dead.

Today is for living
so I'm going to live it

red-eyed and caffeinated
waiting to greet the
possibility
of another 1440
minutes without the
complication of
sleep.

Random You

Drinking up the access to the
Internet Highway
I saw a glimpse of you
and I felt something.

I
felt
something

What?

I don't know.

But it's the first time I've
felt anything
in a long
long
time.

The Quiet

Drinking a cup of day old coffee
Starbucks asstacular Breakfast Blend
Selah playing broken roads in the
background changing to Wes King's
90s contrived Christian beat
making me mute the TV
taking another sip
of bitter
realization

you are not here
but I feel you
in the quiet

and the dryer
breaks the moment
spaghetti bowling
my dirty work
apron.

Runny

Baby chicken embryos
not so settled in my tum
making me feel like throwing up
or throwing out
this life
this world
this existence.

Fat People Got to Eat Too

Cherry turnovers sit invitingly on the frig
and I can't help but think a cup of good old
calcium in a glass would wash down flaky
doughy crust quite nicely.

And, yes, I'm well aware that it's 11:38 pm.

And that I'm 245 pounds.

And that this will go straight to my
boobs
butt
belly's up anybody?

But I don't care.

Because I'm beautiful just as I am
and cherry turnovers are a special treat
and I've no plan to waste my life wishing
I had
I could
I would
I did

when, unfortunately, I didn't.

Sitting

Watching an abundance of
Animal Planet
until I'm sure my cats have every
disease
known to man.

Throwing a pink ball in the
heat
being chased by a black lab
who is OCD about small round
things.

Eating the rest of the salted
almonds
in the cupboard before I attack
the lowfat
Cheez-Its.

Staring at the sleeping tan lab
snoring
her contentment despite the metal
bar
in her leg.

Passing 13 hours
in this quiet way
thinking
reading
writing
in a house decorated
with art and doggy
toys.

Passing life by
sitting soundless and
seeing the possibility
in slobbery kisses and
canine silence.

Charlie Brown

Schultz must have
had it
right.

Sunday afternoon
tired, torn-up,
terrible
digesting a bag of
greasy chips
rumbling in the land
of lunch
and you hid under my
chair
let me brave the
vacuum
until I scooped you up
and kissed
and canoodled
eyes
filled teacups
steeped in the water of
happiness.

Schultz must have
had it
right.

Puppies make everything
infinitely
better.

Lock Box

If you would be so
kind
as to carve my heart
that beating roobios
muscle
out of this 28-yeared
chest
and bury it away
behind copper and
steal
key lost in the bottle
no one will read
merlot
to some Tom Hanks
wannabe
washed up in the Isle
of shrunken heads
and yes they eat the
dead
in Papa's New Guinea
I'd greatly and dare I say
unabashedly appreciate it.

Because I've no use of the
sound
it makes
when I'm trying to sleep
no use of the
push
it has
when I'm trying to breath
no use of the ache it
feels
when I'm trying to see
the reality
of who we
1-2-3
human I'll race you
to another man's
misery
pretend to be.

It's better left to
cannibals and
movie stars.

Make-Believe

For an hour or two
that you know
who
is more than
Henry's Blend
or Blended Chai
that she is not
limited
to Orange Coffee Cake
and Toasted Bagels
that you can hear
the sound of her
voice
behind the timers
and oven digs
that she is in fact a
person
more than the black apron
or lobby sweeps.

Yes, friends, let's
make-believe
for an hour or two
that you know
who
is

you know who.

Tips

Frozen digits tapping
timelessly on the keyboard
wishing they could catch up to
yesterday.

Fresh

This day
this hour
this minute
this second

I'm starting
and no I don't mean to be
cliche
but how else do you
say it
without
saying it
without
meaning it

newness and I'm a shiny
penny for your
pocket
take me home and
breathe me
like a breath of
you know what I mean
clear as a windex window
deep in your lungs
deep in your soul
deep in your heart
deep in.

Calling

She didn't tell me
when we
ate lunch
together.

She didn't tell me
when Will & I
left to watch
Wolfman.

She didn't even tell me
the next day
as she drug me out of bed
to pull out the empty
ink cartridge.

Not once did she let on
that you would be
calling.

Was it because Trisha said
you only had one sister
or I was dead to you
like Albert
and mom
and anyone
not afraid
to say
you aren't perfect
you aren't right
you aren't God?

Maybe yes.

Maybe no.

Maybe so.

Because she loves me
despite your misgivings
because she loves me
despite my failures
because she loves me
even when she knew
you'd be calling her to ask
her not too.

Hear Me

They don't listen anymore
because the world is shiny
and he's wearing red shoes.

You stand on the counter.
Hands stretched out.
Shirt open.
Heart beating
the noon day air.
Waiting for the sound
the thump thump
to finally reach them.

But they don't listen anymore
because the world is blinking
and she's wearing blue shoes.

Resolutions

I was a Weight Watcher.

I watched it as it curved around
me
made me warm and
whole
gave me something to hold
onto
in the long days ahead.

It broke your heart
one two three
and I've pied my
pretty.

But she made me cry
because you had to tell
and I let her think
she was more than sound
blowing over
vocal cords.

She made me cry
and I wanted you
to have been the one
who found a voice
good or bad
kind or mean
now or then
in friendship and
accountablity.

But you're the right BMI
lifer of the point system
measuring my betrayal
in mochas and pumpkin cake
and I've only ever found
the comfort I needed
willing me forward
one bitchy day at a time
in the warmth of fat
surrounding me with more
than I don't cares
and it's up to yous
of a heart left open
and a love
unmeasured.