Thursday, March 31, 2011

December 7, 1998

You don’t think I remember,
But I remember everything.
I remember breakfast—

It was served ice cold
And the taste was unbearable.
The aftertaste was worse.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

The Inquiry

At the bus stop there’s a girl,
Blonde with red streaks;

She says a man at the stop
Asked if she dyed her hair

I find it amusing that
I understand the question.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Love Scenario #15

Today we give someone a birthday—
Her very first, one of many.

Behold: This warm little love ball
Who has effectively stolen our hearts—

And your eyes, and my nose,
My hair, and your smile,

Both our colorful personalities,
Our hopes, our dreams. All of these—

They came from us, and here they are
In a divine little package, given by God.

Our little package, full of surprises
To emerge with each passing year.

We touch her hands and feel her heart;
We look into her eyes and see her soul.

I see you hold her and not let go—
This is what I’ve been longing for.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

The Procession

Today I lay a dear friend to rest.
I proceed along Bardstown, dressed in black,
Toward the final resting place.

Along the way I glance out the window
And happen to spot you on the sidewalk
Accompanied by a group of unknowns.

I come to realize that you, like I,
Have chosen to don the funereal shade.
Did you know of my affairs?...

Of course not...but perhaps
You are attending your own procession,
Marching solemnly with other mourners.

Maybe we each have something to bury—
Perhaps we wish to bury each other
And lay our past to rest.

Saturday, March 19, 2011


What is this?—it appears
The sky can’t hold itself together.
The sun bleeds red; the
Clouds are on fire.
Inferno everywhere!

Cracks in the heavenly blue
Reveal the black of space;
Through this I see the planets
Aligning, the stars around them
Exploding and collapsing in a collective nova.

The moon absorbs the sun’s blood
Like a celestial gauze.
Back at home, I look up and
Could swear I see a flock of pigs
Soaring over the Ohio…

And no one sees this but me.
If one had, they would have supposed
That the world was ending.
But I know the truth:
I don’t love you anymore.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

In Defense of the Superwoman

So what did she do?—
Did she take a wrecking ball
To your dreams?

Did she burn your fondest memories
And put her own in their place?
You must think she’s

A cuckoo bird
Who kicked your eggs
Out of the nest

While wearing nothing
But a trenchcoat and
Red stilettos.

She’s not so immodest as
You insist she is.
Have you even caught her naked?

Stripteasing and
Dry-humping for him
Atop her baby grand?

Or worse—
Sticking fragrant rose bouquets
In her forbidden regions?

No? But my, wouldn’t it be juicy!
Too bad for you, for a Superwoman knows
How to kiss the sky—

No need to fondle the dirt.
She can rise above it
And touch the sun.

Can you?...

Monday, March 14, 2011


I see an abandoned rose;
Its stem is brown and thirsty

Yet its folded face maintains
Its vibrant rouge.

And so is my love for you—
Malnourished yet ever resilient.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

April 29, 2008

In the hall, after class—
I confess my unfortunate sin
To a tattered priest in a down vest.

No prayer as penance,
But instead a dismissal:
“The love you seek is not free.”

These words, they sting my heart,
Tearing away its flesh
Like a slab of hot ice.

Disheartened am I; nevertheless
I accept my penance
And all its torturous ways.

Three years would pass, with
My hands bleeding from my love rosary
And my flayed heart festering.

Thursday, March 10, 2011


A mile, a mile, a mile a minute –
My thoughts race, rip and run
(Will you stop it
With the radio static already?!).

Wind whips in my face;
My heart begins to race.
The eyes lose their focus
And I become a zombie—

Undead and “about to die,” with
A headache to last a thousand years;
The warmest day turns bitter cold
Within the second. Then—

I come alive again
And I fall to the floor.
My mind comes rushing back
With solemn reflection.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011


Must you misspell it?
Must you, must you,

It’s really quite simple:
Five letters unchanged
For twenty-nine years.

Must you feel the need to
Crack it, stir it, mash it, and
Mix it with unnecessary flavors?

It wouldn’t taste right.
It was made authentic, with
A distinct flavor all its own.

Different, yes.
But never complicated.
Different rarely is, turns out.

Name the atmosphere, then
Tack “en” to the last letter—
Won’t take much…

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

The Thirty-Seven Cent Store

What will it be tonight?—
Coffee, muffins, tea...

Perhaps I’d like an apple or orange…
Or a shoulder to cry on.
I need something to keep me from the night.

At night…the city around me…
Slows down…becomes…silent.
It’s a slow, silent, lonely place.
The night is lonely.
The city is silent.
Silence and loneliness dance together.