Dec 07
wondering about rain's picture

Day 6: Feeling the wear and tear of having to surrender to the unknown

I am sleeping to ease
the pace of sand slipping
between the cracks in my brain,
cartoon pink and flamingo colored,
beating with each thought.
At this point I don’t think
the boa constrictor around
my chest will ever leave,
not until I do.

I know the crisp star spotted
nights and cold mornings frisking
me as I hurry to shovel off my car,
I know with simple certainty
I will come home after a long day
to the hectic array
of toys that always litter
our floor, a message
that reads: children live here.

 
Dec 05
wondering about rain's picture

Day 5: Drinking in the haiku

Dec 05
wondering about rain's picture

Day 4: across the world

This world is full unfamiliar faces,
looking around this skeleton
ocean I feel out of place,
for maybe the first time.

I am like a baby, crawling
on all fours blind to the
atmosphere just introduced
to me, like a relative your supposed
to know but can only fake smile
and nod at.

Stress pours through my filter
smooth as expensive coffee
beans, leaving the sense
that eyes are always stuck
on my skin and my toes are
curling into the concrete. Curl
up searching for cool clean dirt.

 
Dec 03
wondering about rain's picture

Day 3: Finding my Morals in a World Full of All That is Immoral

Floating red nile noodles slip
between chopsticks but,
floating piece of meat you
repel me, repel me faster than
the skilled hands of a rock
climber repel me.

What to do when the sick
slip n’ slide of worry grips me
and down go my morals,
should not have let that little
floating piece of meat scare me.
But it does.

Why do you not cry so, why do I?
The blank eyes are as cold as an
insects stare. Eyes lost in dry rolling
sand where the sun plays
a boxing match with life on
the surface.

 
Dec 02
wondering about rain's picture

Day 2: The annoyance one feels when it seems everything in China has sichuan pepper in it

Spinning from the sichuan spice,
little volts of electricity vibrate
my palate, this numbness seems
to be in abundance here.

Fighting the urge to tell them
what I really feel, that this obsession
seems unreasonable. Why consume
when all it brings is this all
encompassing head rush and lip
numbing pain, I can barely speak.

I open my mouth to take a bite,
only stopping to warily sniff.
Is it here? I do not know but
in she goes. Tears fall like
my stomach, damn sichuan,
I will pay for this later.

 
Dec 02
wondering about rain's picture

Day 1: Looking from my hotel window over Qingdao, frustrated my throat hurts from the smog that blocks my view of the mountains I know are hidden there somewhere

The air sleeps in my lungs, thick
with tapered skyscrapers
and the grey film that drapes
over the horizon. You would
think the world ended at the edge
of the sixth building down.

Looking up means to be trapped
in the bouncing glare of lights
coming from the worlds concrete
floor. I do not like the rumble
of passing planes and try
to imagine it is a giant coming
to clear the mist.

 
Nov 15
wondering about rain's picture

the haunting of a once quiet pond

I am haunted by all the people
I do not want to become.
They follow me everywhere,
in the eyes I meet,
the hands I shake. Like the
ghosts of guard dogs chasing
even my thoughts to the edge,
the very brink of a wilting pond.

Hearing the unhearable whispers
of those cursed flower beds,
“don’t be like him, dig me up.”
and I try I dig, dig, dig, digging,
no pick me up picks me up,
I need to keep digging.
But that’s not the flowers fault.

I turn like a kids toy, repeat
the same song i'm a damn disney
movie. Never even dug the flowers,
they are still singing.

When I came back down to earth
from the repetitive rings of saturn,
I thought I felt sun on my back.
Orange glow followed me
all day, nothing but a phantom
feeling meaning; I miss you summer
when I laid face down in the sand
and the dogs were gone and I melted
Nov 14
wondering about rain's picture

worn out ines

I have held many hands,
my hands have been held by many.
In circles and on pathways,
through caves and across mountains.
These palms have met the fates
of many and felt what my eyes
miss, stone stained and nervous slick
they tell a human story.

Even in the dark I have found my way,
hands first feet second crawling
as if a child. Starlit palms
glide along rushing water as if to push
through the surface into zero gravity.
Where they would feel their way along
the planets as if they were trying
to savor their own kind of memory.

Take a quick snapshot to marvel
at later when they sit underneath
stick on stars that make a half finished
galaxy on my ceiling somewhere.
They have been a life line and scissors.
Cut away all my threads and sewn
new ones again and again and again.
I have wrung them out to try and dug
my nails in deep, these hands, who have
Nov 14
wondering about rain's picture

​a letter to all my lost scars

You didn’t have to hide there, softly
shaking with prayers
that someone would do the dirty
work for you. Do not expect each
passerby to jump in your grave
and push and pull
until they are lost too.

Be grateful for the flowers left
every day to show that you were
always on a mind, even uninformed,
even if their name was lost
on the guest list. The offerings
are there to help you creep
out on your own.
Show you there is still sweetness,
still fruit that needs to be eaten
and flowers to be smelled.

Thank the woman who came
and lifted the arms of your stone
headboard to clean every crack
and crease, kept each grey peak
new for you while you lay, writhing
underneath the dirt.
Bet you would never guess
to leave it behind you
would have to be buried some more.

The tremor of your breath
and the race your heart runs
Nov 10
wondering about rain's picture

The All-Inclusive Need to Catch Snowflakes on Ones Tongue

Tigers are coming in the snow,
flying high over white roof tops
and drifting down in gales of cold.
Whispers and roars drowned out by hail.
The eyes in a face too small yell
in hope that those orange heads turn.

I cannot find the teeth she does,
or have a wish to catch cold air
in what is now a full grown fist.
The job is always make hers grow
but I want these dim tigers here,
stay and steal the world for her mind.

A supernova danced and came
off beat and free, some alien
who spins, in spite of those who see.
Like flowers in a storm, not crushed.
Somehow still there, brightly smeared
across the windshield of the world.

 

Pages