Conversations in My Head

“Say you’ll remember me. Say that you will kiss me again even if it’s just a lie.”

With my head on your chest, your heart beats, rhythmic sounds that scramble my own pounding heart, and I touch your cheek and make you promise.

“Say you won’t forget these tangled moments where we lived forever in just one night. Say you’ll remember even if you’re lying.”

Your hands glide along my skin, and I miss you the moment you’re gone. It’s these fiery images that beg me to ask you.

“Will you promise to remember? When the world flips and you can’t find up and down is a mystery, will you picture my face?”

Your memory chases me. Does mine follow you as closely?



Out of the Dark


Photo Credit: Tracy Ann

We flicker in the darkness, you and I,
all broken and unsure, but we still
dance beneath the flames, you and I,
all bright and never-ending.

Every poem–scratching my way out of the darkness.
Every line–a cry for requiem.
Every word–my heart splayed out, bleeding pain into the ether.

You flicker and smoke in the darkness
reminding me why I write, urging me to remember
the bright days instead of the black ones.

Every word, every line, every poem
is just me
scratching my way out of the darkness.


It’s Thursday again and I’m glad I wrote this yesterday since today hasn’t been the best. I submitted the last 3 lines, but I’m posting my process for you anyway. Enjoy!



It’s Trucks and Oil Rigs and Saying Goodbye

It’s trucks colliding,
smashing metal
against metal,
grinding rubber
into dust.

It’s oil rigs exploding,
black smoke spewing,
fire blooming into ash.

It’s moving away
to places unknown,
with people unseen.

It’s saying goodbye
when you just said hello
and waving at loss
from behind a window.

It’s broken hearts
melting into shattered limbs
while pieces of our souls
get lost in the fray.

It’s darkness and light,
wholes and halves.

It’s me without you
and you without me.

It’s a pair who is
and alone.

It’s our lives
on the platter
and all we can do is eat.

So…yeah. I don’t like the ending but I’m too tired to fight with it. :)



Falling Into the Fringe

My best interests
don’t exist,
swept under the
subterfuge of
my folly,
far up-creek
without a paddle,
fighting the rapids

that flail and fling me
out into the fringe,
out beyond
what’s good and whole,
far past the right turns
and suggested streets.
I scramble, swing, shatter

while my best intentions
flop around like
a fish out of water,
gasping for air
and convulsing,
writhing while bystanders
just stare and
“that poor thing.
Why do you do this
to yourself?”

So I watch
as pieces fall off,
flutter to the surface
then find themselves
drowning in lakes
of listless wandering,
trapped amongst
the amber creatures
in the stasis
of unintended intentions.

This is a collaborative piece by me and Christopher Rupley. He’s got some amazing stuff here on his blog. Go read his wonderful words!



Mirrored Glasses

Glasses like mirrors
hide your brown eyes,
shade your pain,
surrender your innocence.

You play sweet melodies,
shake notes
from your fingers
and fling them into the air
with your breath,
your mouth
swallowing the music
into your soul.

you wander
through crowds
of belonging,
skirting the you
they want to see,
and you wear
your mirrored glasses
and pretend
you don’t see me.





Photo Credit: Gidget

Easter and we picked daisies
while we watched one close and another open.
We said goodbye while grass grew beneath our feet.


It’s Thursday again, and it’s time for Three Line Thursday! I’m not in love with this, but I’m so tired from work (spirit/homecoming week) that this is all I’ve got. Enjoy!




The nights imbued with laughter
and crashing waves,
the warmth of your skin
next to mine
and the sun-hot sand
beneath me.

I hear the echoes
of your strings
through the night
surrounding me in you.
Fingers fly
across chords
old and new,
and I can’t breathe
with your music,
the way you speak
with your notes,
I am struck down
and on my knees,
the water pulling me
into your melody,
drowning me
in your ocean,
in the love
floating from your hands,
the way they touched me
when I was broken,
your fingers playing me
with expertise,
and it’s more
than I could take,
more than everything,
and I fell in,
gripping you
as you buried me

in more and everything,

holding me under
until I could see nothing
but your watery image
playing your guitar,
singing me to sleep.



An Imaginary Conversation

“God, you are so broken, so torn and battered that you can’t even see yourself amymore. What happened to destroy you so perfectly? How did you get so shattered?”

“I keep trying to answer that, trying to figure it out, but I’m too destroyed to think. I play and I drink and I bury myself in doubt until I can’t breathe. The cords are strangling me and I’m not even sure they actually exist.”

“Here’s my hand. I know you don’t want it, that it somehow makes this worse, but it’s always here. In the dark, when the wires have you tethered to the pain, reach because I am always here.”

“But don’t you see how that’s the problem? Don’t you see how your readiness suffocates me in memories I can’t get back? Your leaving did this to me. Your distance and desire have charred me, blistered me because I cannot have what’s always been inside my soul. I am lost because I lost you. I bleed because you broke me.”

“I want to fix you but I know my touch only slices you deeper. But you broke me too. You are why these words storm from my lips, why I can’t live like I should, love like I should, because you are the only one who could ever hold my fire, contain my desire while setting me free.”

“What have we done? What have we lost, wasted?”

“Life, my love. We’ve forgotten what it’s about.”



Your Guitar

Notes crescendo
in sparkling bursts
of clashing rhythms
leaving me breathless.

Words drift up
from your fingertips
and I see your pain
as your shoulders rise
with the music,
your chest heaves
with the beat.

Each chord
beckons and breathes
and I wonder
why you ever speak at all
when you scream
so loudly
when you play.