silver lining

fourteen by ten, the size of my life
deep brown moulding (but with tonight's
darkness, darker than that)
digital clocks staring up at me, screaming
two! three! four!
by now it is five.
and yet... and yet i am smiling. love does
funny things.

the big dig

i keep carving out niches for my nights
this night, that. like target-brand life organizers
like perfect sympathizers we drink ourselves apart.
i have never loved a needle and thread so much
as when it sewed me back together,
pulled every day and every night in with a string
and said, "it doesn't have to be okay. but it is."

tonight i will stay at home and sing.
tomorrow i will run outside and drink.
sure.
but next week i'll hold my string.

reflection in the dark

the dusty, digital residue of last night sticks on me like spandex and sweat
you will lift the corners of my mouth with a word, my
everything else with a wink. there are things i should
be shrugging off, shirking and sneaking around
deep troughs filled with slick hair and clipped nails
but i am not, and i don't think i ever will. i am not a shirker,
these days. i am not even a slitherer-outer.
i am a grabber-oner and i'll never let go.

the blessed

in the midst of this pulsing guitar, these
acoustic strums, this building harmony, i see you
share a look. i see the corners of your eyes brighten and
i wonder: is that me? is that my naivete that returns
your wink? my lurking destruction in the swing of your voice?
we've still got time. we've got time.
it was your heartbreaking love that turned me to water
years ago, and years ago i could have never known
that your reflection had so much capacity for hurt.
my mirror is soft and boyish, southern and warm
will draw no exclamations of, "i knew it! i saw it!" my mirror is safe
and so am i.
but in the winter, at night,
i will hug my comforter close and think
how hard it is to see one's reflection in the dark.

stars

you put the urban in my decay. seas of stars
all in your eyes, or maybe mine. either way, i'm seeing stars.
the swagger in your shoes, your hips, it is all mine.
your ships are full. you are autumn eyes and summer lips.
i have a feeling we wished the same thing.

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.