It’s yet to define itself against
the horizon, the strand of oaks
and the open window, the ideal
space for building the future —
that space, ideal for building
the future, is a paradise but only
true when it is lost. And when it’s
rediscovered it’s because we’re
beings from a different plane
falling into pieces and begging
each other to take notes of how
it looked like in our dreams:
the coffee in a nook of the sea,
playing bridge while buried
under the oak lace dawn,
a floor of maps puckering underfoot.

23 Apr 2014 / 46 notes / poetry poem lit ttb poetry 

I Drew The Moon Of My Dreams

I waited for it to appear in eclipses.
Put an onion on my heart and call it a meal,
or howl until it gets us anywhere less blue.
I’ve been having a horrible time closing
my eyes and finding the day older
and birds fluttering into open windows,
making themselves a part of the decor.
I’ve been having a horrible time with standards
of division to make tomorrow more complete.
The moon of my dreams makes the world
a coffee shop and I’m ready to pull it together
and fly into the trees that scratch the sky.
What’s so hard about courage, except
that it requires a leap? The moonlight creaks.

I waited so long, I had to borrow a melody
from the void, and you danced in the season
like it was a sundress. The decorative birds
chirping signal that we could rush into a new plane
whenever. Anywhen. When the ambiguous
dawn begins to define the impossible chapters.

you are real and strong and no matter
what some wonderful could happen
looking at the sea from atop an island

our youth will exist in every age
because it has to but without the contrary
there is no progress - release me

from my heart so it can meet you
in the great and small distractions
without foraging in their drift

If All We Are Is What We Do

All we need to do is something.
So we fished in the city’s
wallet and found dirty change
and left over sand from a far away beach,
then took the train like a jet pack
so we had to squint through the rushing dark.

Things got me all knotted up
cause I was still late
and I’m now writing a note to apologize
and say god I want to kiss you
most minutes, except maybe
when the sky cracks open
but even then could you rejoin me
in a slow dance in a crowded bar?

The mastiff of sun accelerating
our change of seasons sheds on the couch,
I tried to nap the drinks off
but sneezed the pigeons from their wire
and the flutter shook you back
into rejuvenating and all I could think was
how different it would be, having
breakfast with you every day,
or looking out into the sea.

In a later nap’s dream,
I asked you to take notes of all
the hints of different somethings
kicking into a hurricane.

14 Mar 2014 / 78 notes / poetry poem lit ttb poetry 

The sea in clouds coughs in my ear

The sea at night yawns at the full moon
The sea at day does not cave for white flowers
The sea at dusk didn’t die young so it must die old
The sea at dawn scratches broadway neon out of its night beard
The sea at noon strokes my face and calls it a lovely day
The sea at three is an anxious puddle suspended before the bus stop
The sea at rest fidgets as soon as her eyes close
The sea awake gets a tummy ache as her lips seal around another espresso
The sea in bed cannot look everyone in the eyes
The sea in the morning kisses me with coffee ice cream morning breath

8 Mar 2014 / 32 notes / poetry poem lit ttb poetry