Quiet but for the crickets

tonight i got home late
(the neighborhood was already sleeping)
on my bed I found a note:
the family dog had died this morning

i continued mechanically
with my nighttime chores,
thinking a lot and brushing my teeth
with mixed emotions

write,
a voice shouted above the silence,
WRITE!
keep moving!
Dont let these feelings escape you!

Only now,
after obediently opening my computer
do I wonder if my mom thinks
I’m a cold, stoic bastard
for not being more dispirited at times like these

but how am I supposed to tell her
that I got all of it out on paper
the night before–

with my chain-pull desk lamp glowing,
amidst the scattered calculators,
drafting paper, and flimsy notebooks–

the keys of my laptop are clicking deliberately,
like the nails of dog used to do
while pacing the hardwood floor–

An idle evening

up cowle’s mountain
on a perfect afternoon
i walked with you in tow

where giant granite sculptures
perched like vultures
pour gentle jagged shadows
down the hill

from the peak we watched
traffic trickle down
a two-lane road through town below

sitting shoulder to shoulder
in the shade of a boulder
seeking nothing in particular
the sun sat still

I Believe in Futures

how how how
do you choose between the one and
the other when
one (in the realm of speculation)
sparkles in your hand,
while the other
is absent
but for the memory of your skin:
an arm
around your waist
in a way that
warms your chest
with each excited pulse
of your
blood pumping
heart

it’s that easy

Debussy scattered my wants in the wind

“what does it feel like?” he asked her plainly,
with a look on his face that said, “come and save me”
the keys of the piano, the baton, the crescendo,
the wood of the cello, the oboe concerto
it is the sweetest sound, and the most bitter feeling
he cocked his head, so she continued explaining:
it transforms my world into that nostalgiac romance
with castles in france and love unending
and after it wears off,
it’s back to reality.
bills and employment.
tv and commuting.
concrete and asphalt,
stucco and electricity.
how much would you give up,
to have that love?
to wake up every day
inside this world
you are dying to live in?
just how much of this fragile world would you be willing to drop?

“…all of it,

if i knew how.”

then they stared at each other

and maybe the floor

for a while.

Static

emboldened as i am just by your interest
the more you smile, the more i persist
your demeanor’s disarming
your laughter is charming
and the sight of your skin beats my heart through my chest
there was too much tension
and not enough friction
so a month of relation
caused an abberration
and the very first touch
(by accident)
was an explosion
of static
(electromagnetic–
unexplained
by science)

Skipping breakfast

because our moods are often one,
i’m in the mood
for something sweet and softly sung
as i stare into your smiling eyes,
then through the ceiling
into the morning sky
which never quite reveals itself
too abruptly–
it just creeps in
with that dull blue
to transition from
the black and blind
(the night before)
as i shake the sheets
and search for socks
or shirts
or keys gone missing

these slow mornings
are dear to my heart
even though we are always leaving,
being torn apart,
leaving,
saying goodbye,
goodbye,
kissing,
kissing,
have a good day,
come back to me safely,
another kiss,
another goodbye
and that look which makes me believe
i can suffer
as many mornings
as god should choose to give
so long as you will wait for me
with morning love
when day is done
and night begins