Quiet

It’s so easy to write about what makes you scared

or sad

or depressed.

The right words flow so smoothly when expressing

what’s wrong.

And then the imaginative ink

dries up and curdles in its well

when things are going right.

There seem to be infinite ways to show and share sorrow

while joy can only best be savored

in silence.

Cryptozoology

Maybe

this thing chased

called happiness

that is enveloped

in octopus skin

always in the

process of becoming

a dance of shifting

color and texture

in the murky depths

hunting the invisible

Ouroboros

Is it because

of me

or you

that I feel so unhappy?

I can’t tell anymore

who’s at fault
and I’m afraid it

has gone past

the point that

such things even matter-

no matter how much,

or especially because,

it feels so much like
they do;

I am the common link

in all my failed

and dysfunctional

relationships.

"The Nauseating Sound of Emotional Vomit," in D minor

The process

of ceasing to believe

does not end with adulthood

but death.

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The only pity allowed

is self pity.

And only as long as

you keep it

to yourself.

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Whose life am I living?
The shoulders in this town

just don’t fit right

-a little too big for me-

and it doesn’t keep out

the wind and cold

the way I’d like…

It may be a good

deal but I’m not sure

it’s worth buying if

I might never be

comfortable

in it.

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Who is she,
Windy,
gusty hard blowing

hot and cold blasts

down roads lined with

shoulder-to-shoulder brick buildings…

Rising off the water liked a Bond
bombshell double agent, the highs

and lows of imagination seen in her

sway as she lands on the loud streets

creating and parting the gathering

scattering crowds before her;

The hardness of the city rises

to meet, penetrate, push her away

or pull her down;

but onwards, she crawls and scrapes,

rips and glides her way to the vast

open plains beyond

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I wish I didn’t need to write
to feel, to know my own self.

That feeling seen didn’t feel so

revealing, this feeling is revolting

and risking repulsion I internally cower

and cover and close-off myself.

No body wants to be
so seen
while so alone.

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At what

point do

you realize

the problem

is you?

Missed

Old friend.
I think about what you said
about that moment
that you could feel yourself

gripping the rail

staring beyond and below
out and through and past;
your fingers clenching

pulse racing

adrenaline flooding your body

as you knew
in terror and exhilaration

that you would jump

You read those words

and felt yourself possessed by them

and so you jumped-

I’ll never now if

looking back

it was worth it; whether you were freed

by that moment

if you have found what you were looking for

-what any of us are looking for-

But

sometimes I

feel my palms

sweat, my skin tingle

with cascades of goosebumps

and I think

of you.