Nineteen Days

Was it cruel or was it kind?
You know the Universe
can be a fickle bitch
with a wicked streak sometimes.

Our paths, misaligned,
but passing by
close enough
for that fine-tuned pitch,
the hum between us,
to resonate into the very marrow
of our bones.

Crossing borders
as our boundaries
melted into sand,
we were unable to ignore
that pull towards the source.

Stretched out, we lived a lifetime
of nineteen days,
a life together
between two lives apart.

You told me from the start
that it would end
and warned me not to,
but I fell for you.

I know you knew.

Nineteen days.

You fell, too.

We talked, whispered,
and you showed me the Truth,
made me swear I’d look for you
in someone else’s eyes.

I promise, I promise, I promise.

Nineteen days.

I promise.

But she won’t be you…


Heart in Pieces

You came to me,


like a child would,

their favorite toy

in pieces,

holding out your hands,

showing me

your broken heart.


I took the puzzled parts,

exchanged them for another,


its scars apparent

and thick.


And when you walked away

whole, and able to love again,

you never realized

that I had merely traded

your fractured heart in pieces

for the one

that was once

my  own.

The Closet

This closet of mine is empty,

and has been, for years,

balls of dust and detritus

rolling to the corners

when I open the door and look in,

confirming that it is truly vacant,

and there’s nothing left inside

that needs to be aired

in the light of day.


So, if it’s become too great a burden

and you want to let it go,

I’ll let you store your pain in it…


This old North-South highway has been a part of my Life

twice now, I’ve lived on its edges

but in different places, different States,

different Lives.

Sometimes, when it’s late

and I’m tired, sorrowful,

I wonder…

if I was to stand looking down that southbound lane,

would I connect with that girl,

the one who, in the dark heat

of that summer night long ago,

paused on its asphalt,

and looked North,

her hopes stretched out like that ribbon of road,

Or has too much time passed

to catch even a glimpse.

Warnings and Regrets From the Dark

I want you to know who I am, that this all begins
with a kiss, I will leave you,
I have no choice.
I leave everyone I love.

Don't tell me I can change,
there are far too many years
that will deny that.

So if you take me at my word,
I will give you a love that is endless,
and never-lasting.

You say you willingly accept
the loneliness coming, for this taste
of love tonight,
Understanding that I will turn your Life
in a way that cannot be reclaimed.

I'm telling you to run.

Not Going to Apologize…

I don’t know how to explain this, I won’t apologize for it even if it makes you uncomfortable, and I certainly don’t want you to think that I’m some strange stalker of poets, but the words you’ve strung together will suddenly spring to mind, maybe from something said, or because it’s quiet, brief snatches of words and images set off like bombs in my brain, resonating in my head. Filmed through your eyes, the scenes appearing as remembrances, not well-lit and quick.

We’ve lived different lives, nothing alike but still the same, yours was mine as we both grew up, separated by distance and time. I would recognize you across the ages…

Poetry is not my ‘thing,’ I do not actively seek it out, but I am drawn to yours and there’s been only radio silence, nothing new from your world, leaving me to wonder if all is well and hoping to hear from you soon.

My Education

I spend hours,
then, whole days are lost.
Reading others’ stories, feeling their poetry,
sometimes offering my love
by repeating their words back to them,
the ‘catchphrase’
that caught my attention,
sharing love in the form of ‘like,’
to give them encouragement,
for more.

I went to college, several times, but
Life got in the way.
I spend my time now, on sabbatical,
mending this life,
by immersing myself in their words,
learning from them,
with only scholarly appreciation
for the collected works of the masses.

No regrets, then, for those whole days lost
in the thoughts of others.

This is my education,
as I write my own dissertation,
consuming the works that show me the world,
through the minds of others,
their words
providing the view.