Writing

June 1st Freewrite to The Moon Song

We're here, a million miles away.

Sitting here softly,
soft yellow lamplight,
soft blue of a dying day.
Soft music in my ears,
soft voice,
soft chords.

There's things I wish I knew.

Peace is such a strange and transient feeling.
When it comes, it wraps its arms around you,
it breathes quiet whispers of quiet words,
and suddenly you feel the unbearable weight of the now in your heart,
all the beauty that will never again collide in this order.
You see the moment as a memory already.
The gold and fading indigo of a nighttime room,
the suggestion of a chill on your skin.
Maybe you'll forget the song, the name of the song,
the notes and the words.
But you won't forget how it feels,

right here, right now.

Spin

And here you are again, baby,
paralyzed with fear.
Scared you're not living enough,
scared of the coming years.
Well hush up baby,
hush up dear.
Throw open the windows,
smell the cool salt air.
Throw a jazz vinyl on,
and let it spin spin spin.
The years will soon be gone,
so just spin spin spin.
You're living, and that's all anyone ever did.
So just spin baby,
spin.

5.18.14

Not Enough of a Cynic

I Saw A Black Car Drive By.
I Did Not Know If It Was a Hearse or a Limousine.
I Began to Consider
How Perhaps They Were Not Really So Different At All
but,
I Decided I Would Rather Leave It To The Cynics

5.4.14

Sunday Night

It's Sunday night,
And I feel suspended, for a second,
By the sea-salt blue breeze
That stirs the tallest tips of the trees.
Caught like the sky between yesterday and tomorrow.
I know that next morning
Time will once again pull me in it's current,
But tonight it lets me float.

5.4.14

Untitled Haiku 5.14.14

I know the field ends.
But in the light of late spring
I see only green.

5.14.14.

Untitled 5.6.14

Rain on a clear day.
The sky blue brushed with gold
and the clouds far away.

It reminds me of the times I cry
without knowing why.


Maybe because I'm bad at rhyming.

Nighttime Over the Atlantic

A pearl moon is set in its shell of ink-dark indigo
tonight,
casting silver powder showers down onto an ocean
of wisp thin mist.
I fly high above,
in a void of tidal winds and turbid currents,
and watch ripples move across a cloud-bank sea.

4.18.14

Salt Skin

Fill the bath halfway.
Water hot.
Steam rising.
Pour salt.

Swirl with foot.

Is it dissolved?
Yes.
Step in.
Sit down.
Silence.
Feel the salt on your skin.
Silence.
Do you hear the ocean?
Silence.
You breathe and the water moves.
Back and forth.
In and Out.
Do you feel the tides?
Silence.
Drops of sweat roll down your face.
Feel the salt on your skin.
Silence.
Lick your upper lip.
Taste the salt on your tongue.
Do you hear the ocean?
Silence.
Stand up.
Pull the drain.
Rinse the salt off your skin.
Silence.

3.31.14