Other Ones

Do what you want
Leave if you choose
Forge greener pastures
Roll in the hay
With other ones

Make excuses if you want
I got my own
Find other hearts
And leave mine unattended
With all the other ones

Do the math
Show the work
Take the two
Break it down
Into other ones

Devise the divide
That makes us only me
Scratch the deed
That we loved each
Other once

Undo, unravel, unsee
Undermine, untie
Unbelieve
Understand you are
Among other uns

There’s a scale
That has tipped
Ranks have slipped
Your perfect tens
Are now utter ones

You can count on this:
Roll the dice
Snake eyes will wink
They know your loss
While the other won.

Published in: on January 27, 2013 at 2:06 am  Comments (1)  
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Our Lives are Unfolding

Our lives are unfolding
Like origami

Creases are undone
We are returning to
Simple paper
With marks that show
We were once beautiful cranes,
Fancy napkins,
Cootie catcher fortune tellers.

In the end, we are all the same.
Squares of paper, blank slates
Mere cloth on laps
Open maps

After one bad bend, turn and smooth
There is a groove that beckons all future moves
Actions that make wrinkles,
Our mistakes, lines in our palms
Spelling longevity or brevity.

Our lives are unfolding
Like picnic quilts

Snapped open
And drifted to ground like fall leaf parachutes
We find a simpler time
To be alive
gleaming and gnawing
On rinds and bones
In an open space far from home

In the end, we are all the same.
Patchwork patterns
Loose stitches
Laced by ancestry,
A beautiful barrier from feeling the earth
And a tool for getting fresh air

Our lives are unfolding
Like old love letters found in hope chests,
A careful dumping of heart-wrought ink
That eventually fills us with longing or grief
Such simple paper
That echoes in the halls of memory

In the end, it is all the same
We fold back up,
envelope ourselves in long cedar boxes,
Mere parchment etched with
Sequestered confessions
Our crow’s feet biographies and laugh lines
Denied light or wistful gaze
Forever tucked away.

Published in: on January 17, 2013 at 10:09 pm  Comments (3)  
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Puzzles, peckers, wolves and pigs

I may play hard to get
but you’re still getting hard
I’m a fool for a miraculous bard
That will have my heart in its tiny shards

Like pick up sticks for houses made by pigs
Weathering the blow of mighty winds
There are wolves at doors I won’t let in
Bolster me with a hearth and pen

I’m a pulsing puzzle of oozing, interlocking shapes
That when precariously placed
Makes an abode with a sturdy base
I can be had with nimble hands and a profound phrase.

It’s prose I praise.

The pursuit may seem difficult
To solve the heart of an adult,
A brain teaser with varying results
You’ve sniffed a trail that has gone cold

You’re a dog dodging doggerel
A hound hounding Houdini
A wolf in wolf’s clothing.
I can see your mouth is foaming

You might be cumming but I am going
Huff and puff but I’m not blowing
Down, and when your fangs are showing
Your frustration will be growing

By the hair of my chin you will find
Nothing there. I’ll slip out of your mind
And leave no notes behind
Just a clapboard shack for which you’ve pined.

I am not the pieces, I am the picture.
I am not the stick, you are not the fetcher
And I declare at this conjecture
I am so much more than my texture.

Published in: on January 4, 2013 at 9:31 pm  Comments (2)  
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