Just as fine as before

I used to wonder: it was great.
I used to dream at a startling rate.
"What does he do now?" is an
Insightful follow-up question.


Crouching in this stone-stiff chair,
Weighing every pin-pricked word,
I fine-tune, always at the source,
And swear I'm still a dreamer.


Yet paths we take get narrower,
From plains to plots to houses.
Barefoot at birth, untied at twelve,
Now we stack our shoes in closets.


Through my window, the city swells,
Flexes, moans at bolted seams.
Edges curl, suburbs slide central.
The strip mall's guts will fertilize trees.


I rub my eyes to smear the specters,
My heartbeat staves off dread.
My elbow guides a wisp of cursive,
I funnel the stream in my head.

Cracking with Spring

The potted plant man beckoned,

And we approached courteously.

And eyed his windowsills of product,

And patiently heard his offers of plenty.

He told us that spring brings him stress,

The roots crack his pots from within.

But people like their plants to be potted,

And they all know where to find him.

I turned my head down and chuckled,

And plucked a leaf from my girl's hair,

And crumbled it in my fingers,

And remembered the tree that put it there.

A Twin

Wide-eyed and composed,

Sturdy and delicate,

Stubborn and unblinking,

Occasionally perplexed.

Always partway at rest.

Anniversary

I like to imagine she danced while she held me,
Balloons fell from the sky,
Passersby watched as I gurgled and smiled,Taxicabs chorused nearby.

The day I was born, the earth's rotationFlung thousands of people away.
Minding their business, walking the street,Sucked up by the sky from the fray.

I felt no disruption, all was kin.The sun set upside down that day.