ordinary lies

Dreams are the lovers I have lied to

many times

with promises

“one day I’ll make you all come true-

just need a little time to do..

the things that I’m supposed to

then you’ll see I will be back for you.”

Oh, how I entertained them in those days…

with poetry and sentiments

Beautiful arson,

The world burned for a hundred years

from words I lit like matches,

setting fires to whatever souls were ready to ignite

and we made love

recklessly enough with our hearts open

while their eyes stayed closed

I lived

an ordinary life behind their backs,

disappearing days on end to live my ordinary lies

where each day was no different than the last

pretending not to notice

when my dreams would pass me by.

 

 

 

 

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Out of FOcus

When the dust settles we meditate on objects, faces, trees dancing in
the distance
until our eyes agree with what our brain expects to see,
helpless in that moment, living only in our mind that only sees the
way things were
these are the little lies Truth tells
that nothing good can come of dust,
as if our bones were made of glass, our hearts and minds transparent
but we are solid and opaque, taught to ignore our shadows
and it’s so easy to forget that when we see the light
we’re standing in it’s way

borrowed colors

They say the ocean’s blue is just the sky’s reflection

So maybe Gray is just a wandering color searching

for some place called home

and the rain works…

for a little while until a selfish sky takes back what’s hers…the rain I mean.

and maybe heartache’s just a color with nowhere else to go

and everywhere I see gray people crossing intersections, looking up

as if they carried oceans waiting for a blue sky to reflect

sharing shadows

I wonder if you even notice
how this fading light still favors you
as if the Sun still holds a flame
with all the colors working in a symphony of touch
the shadows of small leaves rejoice to play their part this afternoon
moving in secret crescendo
all along the ripples in your dress
like half pipe waves for wandering thoughts
you almost made my arms ache
straining slowly from the emptyness they carried
until that distance shrinks beneath these branches
with your perfect shape to hold onto
and we can watch the jealous sun sink back into the earth
sharing shadows by the fire

there with me

I want you there with me
when the dusk is like a substance all life swims through
listening for the buzzing songs of insects
that only seem to echo off the wet grass
when the gold light fades to dust
I want you there with me
when the salt wet spray of ocean air
stings perfect on the skin
left bare against a sun who’ll have no shadows
wherever there is empty canvas
there with me
when the song of traffic richochettes off steel
but muffled still by pigeons speaking in their flight
to beg for bread along park benches
and that moment when startled,
that they all fly off as one
the flapping of five hundred wings in unison
like the conversation of a crowd
the roaring intermission of a play about to start
there with me
for the brittle scrape of dry leaves
sliding down the sidewalks
like whispers almost heard but still indiscernible
when the August sun burns red in its finale of pastels
and you can taste the honey in the air almost.
At the edge of my last days
and the beginning of all mystery
we can drink a toast to Time
and tell him one more joke he hasn’t heard
and laughing he will ask
“was it all that you had hoped for?”
I want you there with me
to help me fill in all the details

small town lullaby

we the lonely
we the proud the simple and forgotten town
sip slowly with a ressurrected joy these sweet and simple days
we’ll wander red bricked sidewalks back and forth like songs we can’t
stop singing
sit out in the sun let the heat caress our skin like the brush of a lover’s hand
we the lonely
we the proud the simple and forgotten town
stray to our favorite corners
sit and watch the day fall prey to yet another sunset
defeated…. satisfied …and changed as always