a line through fire


drawing a line
is like taking broken bits of your past
and pushing them together
molding like a child does hardscrabble clay
hoping you’ll finally be that vessel
to hold the waters you will need

drawing that line
is like seeing safety
through billow clouds of smoke
feeling fire lick your skin and scrape with pain
as you escape through a window aflame
fueled by combustible anger and regrets like rags in a corner

drawing a line
is like setting that fire
hoping you have enough in you
to leave the flames
and let time snuff things out
leaving what isn’t needed among the ashes

head rush at 2:45 a.m.


asking what composes
the music of my post-midnight madness has been
the past week and a half
is akin to attempting to play a trumpet

i suppose
it’s all the times that i should’ve listened
to my fears in the past
walking back and gripping my shoulders
like relatives who’ve traveled many miles

the blood is sensitive
singing underneath my skin
like altos in Sunday choirs with no fans
and you wonder where sleep is to be found
as minutes drag the sunrise from its bed

asking what anxiety
comes before one sleeps
is to shine a mirror into the corners of your spirit
hoping that you can meet the gaze

thoughts of a falling star (for Sagal)

you shouldn’t appear
like uneasiness in the stomach
too near the last drink
and too far from home
but here you are
tumbling back to the land
i once called paradise
because it as where love made its home for you
and like any falling star
you still burn bright before the eyes
have you tired of drifting in space
playing it safe
and as you trad loneliness’ cold embrace
for those moments where i kissed your face
and the fire they contain
let the next time
you crash into me
be so powerful
we give it a name.