Goodbye 2016

New year, 

old ghost,

black coffee, 

cold toast.

New paint on 

old walls,

different pictures, 

same halls.

New lyrics, 

old tune,

same old me, 

same old you. 

All Artists are Twisted (Even the Bad Ones)

You've become abstract, love, 

dots on a canvas.

I reach for you, 

I don't know where your hand is.

No matter the distance, 

the picture's distorted-

I can stand here, baby, 

I've re-read and re-sorted. 

You've become abstract, love

but no less a distraction-

the rabbit is safe darling, 

it's non-fatal attraction.

Before I Van Gogh, darling,

just let me say,

I would give my left ear

if it meant you could stay. 

For the Lost Princess

Once upon a time, 

(for our story started
as all the best stories do)

in a galaxy far, far away,

(or maybe not so very far at all)

the stars uncrossed themselves

and we few friends found freedom

fought for it-

paid for it in blood

in tears

in empty chairs around too quiet tables. 

And after everything,

every battle,

every starless night, 

every silent prayer flung into the void, 

the only thing that remained,

still and steady,

was this:

you,
the pivot point 

around which my universe 

wobbles. 

Gravity will never teach me 

how to leave this orbit. 

Car Trouble

I was 
red lights 
and stop signs, 
but you drove 
like you were 
colorblind. 
All you saw 
was open sky 
and open roads- 
is it any wonder 
our tires now spin 
futilely against 
the blue? 
The engine 
overheated and now 
we shiver 
in the cold 
wreckage. 

Haiku 1120

I still prefer you, 

sleep-warm'd and disheveled, Love,

to any other. 

Cold Hands and Cold Feet

Please remember, Love:

We once painted a canvas 

no man could erase.

Whatever Happened to Sitcoms?

A tenuous calm:

the worst days feel like battle,

good days are so few.

Daniel's Song

And if 

the last time 

I held you 

is truly the last, 

remember this: 

my arms will still 

feel the weight of you, 

my eyes will still 

see your face 

in every passerby, 

my heart will still stop,

my stomach will still 

corkscrew-tighten, 

my lungs will still 

deflate 

like my smile, 

every time I discover- 

again- 

that you are 

never 

coming home to me. 

I will always 

be missing you.

The Victors Write the History Books, (The Losers Write the Poems)

I'm a rough draft poet 

but revisionist historian,

I'm searching for a silver frame 

that I can put my story in.

I never change my words 

because they all reflect the now in me, 

But memories I edit 

until they become what they should be. 

The truth is your perspective and the things 

you thought you see in me

has been wildly tainted, painted 

rose-colored and fancy-free. 

So keep red pen in hand and check 

that I have got the story straight-

I'm headed to the presses soon, 

so hurry, it might be too late. 

Haiku 3(81)

You are a first draft:

continue your revisions.

K(No,)w you're never done.

Nothing

She asked,

"What're you thinking about?"

And I answered,

"Nothing."

But you should know:

You are the 

nothing 

I've been thinking about-

and honestly?

I've been thinking about

nothing

for a very long time. 

Wild Ones

They are the wild ones,
elation and despair,
pleading eyes and sticky grins.
They are the wild ones,
the fairy-catchers,
the tutus and boots,
the strong wills in tiny bodies.
They are the wild ones,
and I am so glad-
so very, very glad-
that they are ours.

Let's

Let my too-cold hands 

    find the warmth of your skin,

let me press red nose 

    to pink cheek,

let our giggles 

    warm our hearts 

and our bodies 

    warm each other. 

Let winter winds blow cold,

    for we will be together. 

Homeward Haiku

Empty seats, full tank,

nostalgic songs play loudly.

I am on my way.

Mine

And even after all these years, 

there is nothing you could say 

or not say, 

do 

or leave undone, 

that could convince me 

that you are not mine. 

Three Year Old Wisdom

The inside of your mouth is like music- 

a song that I knew once by heart. 

Your name wrapped itself round the back of my tongue, 

and it sits there, so heavy and dark. 

The blacks of your eyes are like moonbeams-

so wash me in light from your gaze,

Hide me in stars, constellations of dust,

your darkness illuminates days. 

The words that you write are like magic,

cantations to keep loss at bay,

so mutter them, darling, quote under your breath,

and I promise to find you some day.