Posts
-
Highways
It’s a clear day. The sky is blue. The grass is green. And we are driving down the highway. The journey is marked by spastic bursts of conversation and a chunkily categorized landscape. I press my nose to the glass and point. -
Prayer book
I wanted to experience Catholicism, the ritual of eating God on a dreary Sunday morning. So last winter, I hauled myself up the hill to St. -
Wet Paper
Our eyelids slowly fold,
your fingernails creasing my skin
as you tell me not to cry.
Suppressed by geometry,
there’s no room for imprecision
in our origami sorrow.
There will come a day,
when wet and wrinkled, -
Schrödinger's Cat
The refrigerator has skin.
It hums, cold through the cold night, singing to itself.
There is an emptiness wound into our mechanisms.
In the dark, I poured myself a cup of orange juice. -
Cherry Tree, Blossoming
Cherry tree, you flourish in so many fragile ways.
I shelter under your bare boughs, waiting for spring.
Time moves delicately, upward with splayed fingers.
We sit together, cold and open to loose clouds. -
Hidden
It’s a delicate thing, living,
waiting to notice the sun.
Twisted, like a autumn leaf,
I turned with your breath.
Our fingers were tangled,
together, made to be one.
Loves
-
-
Autumn's Harvest
As the years go by,
the seasons may become a blur,
but late in the evenings of autumn,
you’ll hear the wind start to sigh.
-
The Words my Mother Gave Me
I wrote a poem today, but I don't think anyone will ever see it
I wrote it using nothing
-
A Pablo Neruda Quote
“Qué será mi pobre patria oscura?”
“What will become of my poor, dark country?” - from “Insomnia” by Pablo Neruda
-
Philosophies In Third Person
She began to realize that thinking thoughts in your head was fairly different than writing them down.
-
Nature's Colorful Farewell
Amidst trees ablaze in fiery hues,
Autumn's touch, a painter's muse.
Leaves, like whispers, gently descend,
In nature's waltz, a timeless trend.
