one-man show

i called myself a strange soul, and minutes later i
was spilling guts in the neon city. i was too metaphorical,
too lustrous for the lip-glossy director. i was too elusive
even for myself. are these even my words at all? i thought.
but of course. they must be. i wrote them.
i played into your smile, your effervescent skill
and knew just how scared you were to judge me.
sometimes things just go.
i found, in the end, what i was trying to kill.
i coddled it, swathed it in words and beautiful scar tissue,
and brought it back to life.

tatihou

sometimes spray paint, like ire-coated particles,
is just as good as blood. and age old chains, they still retain
their magic where they stood.

our make-pretends
and nikon lenses sifting through the sand,
we walk with heads held high and notebooks stashed
our lightning eyes and toddler masks.
this is what it means to be, the ocean seems to say.
this is what it's like to live for each and every day.
so who am i to prove it wrong? it's vast and blue and deep
deeper than i, a tiny speck, could ever hope to be
so hugging all my rhyming schemes, i jet across the sky
remembering all i long to keep and breathing out a sigh.

sometimes idols, false and true alike,
can shatter on their own. and when they do, and the levee breaks,
remember tatihou.