Sunday, September 22, 2013

Thirteen Days

Day one. Breathe electric air and smile
The second day: you climb upon a chair.
By three you're stacking blocks in tiny piles.
Four, you're zipping up and down the stairs.

Day five. A corner office boasts your nameplate,
So travel every continent on six.
On seven, snare your sweetheart. Say it's fate.
The eighth day, buy a lake house just for kicks.

Day nine. You'll raise a child of your own.
Come ten, relax. Enjoy your golden years.
On day eleven: write your lessons down.
By twelve, you're missed. There's laughter. There are tears.

Remember me those moments in-between
Until we reunite on Day Thirteen.


Tuesday, June 11, 2013



A moon reflects
fractions of light
from fiery bodies.

Moon tides
master faithless oceans
in cold rhythms.

Moon atmosphere
shortchanges potential life
with no air.


Up close: sawtooth crags and sultry nooks.
Beyond reach: two seas upon a swirling masterpiece.
One world apart: an indistinguishable speck.


There was a moment:
you cried a moon tear
placed it in a generic bottle
hid it in a secret room
for safekeeping


I unlearned science
some moons glow within
some moons are full of life

I breathed a moon
overpowered by light
divided into shards

I tasted a moon tear
when no one was looking
the universe sighed


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