The room is empty

except for a few small boxes

and an old Les Paul’ wrapped in blankets.

        Middle of the room, sitting

on our designated computer chair

eyes sailing solemnly across the room-

It was this space I

had my first heart to heart with

true blue knockyouout anxiety.

It was this room I

first saw my brother, a masqueradesociopath

cry.

This room…

where I wasted so much time

keeping distant, recycling old films

thinking too much/not enough,

lighting too many cigarettes

(some days I thought I’d never be able to quit, thought I’d go out in a coughing fit)

never

reading enough words of the wise,

(figured I had it all figured out)

this room, this sea

was chambered stormfront to my hell…it was ‘home’.

Didn’t know that I’d get to a shore of peace

though tonight; eyes sailing soberly across the room

my ship has marked its’ course-

somewhere outside these clamored city walls.

I shall be released

(all in due time, all in due time)

but alas!

one last minute I must spend here

floating in repose

perched atop this boat, I’m pulling anchor; settingpacetorow

my eyes sail triumphant sorrow across the room-

we had our fun…

The sea is empty

except for a neon-light alarm clock

and a few small memories packed up in cardboard boxes.

Beautifully Fallible Fiction

You.

you are stubborn about the most trivial things

and

( which makes it worse)

 are seldom wrong.

You.

you shape the most curious

of faces when angry with me.

and scrunch your nose

completely out of attraction when confused.

You.        

you have cold hands

that freeze my cheeks

when you insist we share MY warmth.

You.

you kiss me unabashedly

when I least expect it

and smile too wide because

you

know your lips still make me nervous.

You.

you act unaware of how childish

the way you stare at me is.

(like a “check yes or no” note in elementary)

you breathe too loud-

it keeps me awake.

(I can’t help but be worried/your 10pm coffee)

You.

you almost always mess up the eggs

and burn the toast

(I wish you’d just let me cook)

But you…

you…

.glow.

when the sun first sneaks through our blinds

wrapped in white linen;

 you are daylight

(I still wake breathless to the sight)

There’s  this weightless charm about

the way you carry that

 anvil in your chest.

And I want always to protect it.

You are not merely beautiful

but rather flawlessly imperfect.

Now come to bed, for I love you, dear…

A Better Man’s sound of

the unlocking, the lift away-

Has the strangest way of starting off my day

A tear in the eye

Fever pressing to play my old oak.

Fix those strings, finish that song

drive up north to that cabin

Lost ‘mongst the woods

Sitting still life painting by the lake

(I dreamt she’d meet me there)

My old 89’ skids heavy

Across the unpaved path.

Hands shaking, fumbling for my keys

I open the cracking cedar door…

Glasses on

Her books; a paperbackblanket across the floor

She’d look up to meet me

Crook her head, smile softly

“how lovely, you found me.”