Marriage

Over the fence I can't help but notice how green your grass is
especially during this jubilant season of Spring.

I've always wanted green grass like that but commitment was never my strong suit.
And I know when it's that green, it's so delicate on the fingertips

and sinfully soft between the toes.
Just knowing it's there is a comfort, like a friend who shares with you


the sunrise after a night sky full of stars.
It's true, my grass is not nearly as verdant as yours

as I could never invest such time and care as you have
and for that you deserve the greenest grass in the land.

And I thank you for that, as I continue to admire it from over here
where solace exists in knowing that the grass is greener elsewhere.

Never

I never knew how long that would be 

when he says I will love you forever.

Could that be as long as him saying he will never love me,

in which case, he wouldn't say it, but I'd know.

Forever and never, two equidistant infinities

determining fate, life, events, love.

Is never an accurate measure though?

If maybe by our each and every life's end 

we assess what did not come to pass

to credit as never; by then it will be proven true.

So then, how on earth can I say, or honestly believe

that I will never be loved by him 

when there is much more time to measure? 

Yes, I know, the clock is ticking. 

Time is counting down every day to never. 

But even with it transpiring at this pace, in this vain, 

I can't truthfully say he will never love me. 

There is still time for it to become forever 

before my never clock runs out.

A Testimony of Shadows

I've been awake for years now

but the dream still floats above my head;
the story so lucid, as crystalline waters gather near flaxen sands. 

Clear like that, and as true as a heart loves a child. 

Can dreams be memories triggered by the world, 

its encounters, its faces? 

I walked through a dense fog for a fraction of my life 

arms outstretched before me to navigate. 

I'd bump and stumble, get lost, cry. 

The fog, the sleep, so deep, I couldn't be heard. 

But like falling from a rooftop

about to collide with a hard darkness

the world thankfully jarred me awake  

to exist amongst truth and light, but

still cognizant the dream no less real. 

Shadowy corners wish to be indistinct, mysterious.

Any desire of mine to uncloak their hidden secrets

is guarded, left still as cryptic as ever. 

I still see the spectral edges living in plain sight 

but I can't give them a second glance - anymore. 

Cervical Certainty

I wonder how long it will continue

to balance my head, keep it upright, 

not collapse under its degenerative existence. 
I wake to snap, crackle and hopefully pop. 

The pop is key some days. Snap the 

description of relief, pressure abated 

until stiffening resumes. Crackle is 

like that oral sensation from Pop Rocks;

how my tongue loved a good firecracker!
A veteran to a slow demise, I elongate 

my entire self on a sturdy mat and hope for the best. 

Holistic remedies may sustain the longest without

gastrointestinal invasions along the way. 

Sometimes electrical currents flow along a tangle

of nerves, reaching even places not to blame. 

The temples, the eyes: innocent bystanders 

swept up in the crime, guilty by close association. 
What I do know is that there will only ever be 

varying degrees of toleration; good days, bad days, 

and sometimes good months, bad months. 

I'm at the mercy of Mother Nature 

but she is just doing her job. 

Perhaps her works will better suit me southerly. 

Currently in what I call a "bad month," 

I ponder this more and more.

No End in Sight

There has to be an end; in movies, books, plays,
even life…  be it climactic anything requiring resolve.
But what if there is no end? No finality, no closure
just reflection on what could be, might be, you hope to be?
Why can’t they finally find themselves in the same place
fate deciding to jump in and assist, once and for all?
A story has to end, right? Otherwise, you’re lost
in dreams, in outcomes, in probabilities,
alcohol softening the blow when none come to pass.
There could be blue skies and moonlit nights,
and true love, or whatever that means in real life.
It can be real, genuine, and actual. Not a
fabricated story of impossibility.
Maybe the end is to have no end at all.
No resolution, no fate, no answer to burning questions
on how to exist suspended by the unknown.
There’ll be no star to wish upon, no matter near or far.
No sign to signify This is the end.
No sunset to shimmer on two real people in love.

 

Remembering

~ For Marc

Especially when the house is quiet 
or I'm driving, windows closed, radio turned down, 
and then I'm talking to you in spirit. It's been the 
only way since you decided you won't.
My words ring, and yours, I conjure, 
how they might form in your head, 
as they surely never reach your lips.
I remember the Jerry Garcia tie I gave you for the holidays
and the kiss on my cheek for my birthday. 
Then I remember thinking I might die 
between Friday afternoon and Monday morning. 
I remember the deep, soulful stares, drinking me in. 
I wanted to reach inside you, find the buried soul 
I knew so well. I never saw anything so conflicting: 
the great ability to love and the choice not to, 
like a divided heart pursuing life in contradiction. 
My own heart ached, felt torn and thought 
together we might mend. I hoped, I pleaded with a
God that seemed not to comply, yet still I waited. 
Years erased the color in my cheeks and the spring in my step. 
The waiting became my greatest failure, the hardest 
truth I would ever bear. I never created an unrealistic 
image of you, I saw you looking out a window, 
eyes filled with tears, wiped away before anyone could see. 
Our mutual sadness and your impossible obstacles 
kept us distanced. My one wish is that I get the answers, 
the reasons you can't even speak to me, let alone 
find a way to love me, as only living allows.