technicolor goodbye

this isn’t a noir film
this isn’t pretty
or glamorous
it’s gritty and dour and grim
saying goodbye at the train station
looks so pretty on a postcard
steam and smoke billowing artfully
men in fedoras
women in gloves
but when it’s technicolor
and it’s us
it’s heart-ripping, soul-trampling
bright fluorescent lights pierce
gaudy grime covers the train
the people on the platform
look like Van Gogh’s peasants
it’s all too sad
and I so want to play it cool
I have no cigarette to flick
you have no witty iconic statement
there’s no swelling music
just a plaintive
“don’t go”
that I keep to myself
but that you read in my eyes

October 4, 2013 4

luxurious thanks

luxury drips steadily from your lips
silken words settle within
your gentleness washes over me
and I want more

I reach
there you are
thrust and parry
we play

then it’s dark and quiet
and I share my dreams
vivid, tortured, heavy
I make them all too real

but you sweep in with silver tongue
and hold my hand through the wires
and I feel lighter
and I thank you

October 3, 2013 0

tangling

sliding down the wall
a heap of limbs
tangled
like tired vines
shedding fruit
they stretched against each other
brushing aside shadows
reveling in dusk
where stars and fireflies meet
before all is quiet
one last howl
greeting the crescent moon
sounds of the world
recede
no cars or talking
just rustling leaves
to be heard
amidst their calming breaths
as they watch the last streaks
of violet and midnight
meshing
tangling

October 3, 2013 4

tumbleweed

written and crossed out so many lines
tossed so many words to the wind
maybe someone will find them
floating on a tumbleweed
and make more sense of them than I

October 1, 2013 1

Like dawn

You’re looking at me but seeing her
I know that look, it’s happened before
Sitting there stunned
wondering how I know
it’s because I was there too
in one way or another.
The light behind her
as she stood in the doorway
saying goodbye
without quite getting
that it was breaking you.
I am quite good at picking up pieces
and forming patterns
out of broken hearts.
You see he looked at me the same way
with great charm
but without an ounce of soul
as he made his messy exit.
Your last night with her
will never leave you
but that’s ok
since I’ll never forget him either.
But that doesn’t mean
we can’t make our own mandalas
with the shards we’ve become
not so empty just broken
waiting to be laid out in a new bed
of our making.
It will be messy and beautiful
and ours looking forward like dawn.