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.

8.13
s.d.

Luna

I.

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.

II.

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

III.

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

IV.

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

6.13
s.d.

Fall's good

A cloudy spring:
stuff happens. Fall's good
for wine, friendship.

10.12
s.d.

A reminder

This night
illusions
far away

Tomorrow
sun ascends
a day closer

Hold it there
I'm present
to dance

7.12
s.d.

Coping with Rejection

 I.
Even a duck loses
feathers, sometimes.

 II.
The subtle stink of depression
slipped silently under the bedroom door.
I focused on emails, writing,
putting off packing. I hardly
noticed it, like I missed the fog
sneaking in from the Bay.

 III.
When reality diverged from sketched dreams,
I could not cry. Instead,
I swallowed. Perhaps lasagna
or the laundry room beep
will choke me.

 IV.
The optimist's view:
each sentence is a barb poking out
through this translucent skin.
To anyone who squints,
my guts are visible,
soft and flickering.
To be thus vulnerable is to build a story,
an adamantine armor that relishes
the sunlight at the expense of gamma rays.

 V.
Among moldy table scraps:
fetid lettuce
with reddish-brown, speckled crust.
Everyone lets it alone; it's
increasingly acrid.

 VI.
I enjoy time travel, at least I think
it would teach me something.
(I'm ethical when it comes to time travel,
I won't bet on Giacomo or play the Dow.
My footprints are scant. Barely noticeable,
I won't shake up the world.)
An answer is nestled in the mountains
of India, the glitter of Manhattan, or
elsewhere between space and time.
I'd like to discover it. I think I would
time travel if it was possible, if I knew
I wouldn't lose the question.

 VII.
I'm glad I told
you how I felt.
If, when you're old,
the latent fear
does fall away
and crust does melt:
then give a call
on any day
of any year
at all.

10.11
s.d.

bonnet stripes

bonnet stripes ahead:
heart and engine race
it's not her

10.11 (revised)
s.d.

tumbling

double black diamond:
tumbling downwards through snowdrifts
never meant for us

12.11
s.d.

I woke up today and wished for winter

I woke up today and wished for winter.
I heard nothing but childlike snowflakes do-sa-do from leaf to terrace,
The gritty plumber from 218 pouring rock salt,
One stubborn streetlight flicker amidst the reflected brightness,
And two pairs of inadequate sneakers crunching through the virgin snow.

7.11
s.d.

I'll bring you to your love

I'll bring you to your love
So get to know me.

Let me show you how a man cares.
I'll give you a Hallmark card, a feather, a violet day.
Enjoy my Riesling, taste my quiche, hear my songs.
Let's smile at each other, hold hands, and kiss
By the fireplace, at the pier, in front of Radio Shack.

I'll meet your needs and satisfy your desires.
My shoulder is bonier than a pillow and I'm warm.
We can laugh or concentrate on the blurred silence,
I can speak brusquely or in wrinkled tones.

Choose your moment and manner of departure.
Slip into the electrified neon of night, or instead
Be one of my new best friends.

In one or two years, I'll come to your wedding.
I'll purchase champagne flutes from your registry.
I'll take lots of pictures and enjoy almost every minute.

7.11
s.d.

Night on the Mission

A tilted eyebrow, glimpsed that sultry night
Meandering through bleak, insipid haze
Amongst the skinheads, ashes, Miller Lite
By dim-lit corkboards circling hipster greys
Some splattered words amidst the muted noise
As unlit candles, sharing cigarettes
A fancied trip to Vegas with the boys
For silken dizzy crystal minuets
Within a scarlet smile turned to blue
The softened spikes left hints of molten rust
From hill to hill, omnisciently we flew
Until black morning chewed us into dust
     If I'd been weaker you would still endure
     Some welts upon your consciousness, for sure

10.10
s.d.

Lucid for Islands

I am lucid for islands
in a row, the pungent
refraction of sunny
nodules in the sheathes
brings a glowing
nostalgic parmesan.

Opaque holes clamor
for depth-defying
pestilence. Forward,
bliss, crisis, and the
pinwheel's ineptitude.

Fallen upon a kitschy
spark, the present,
and my shredded
pancreas sits in tubes.

1.11
s.d.

Molera Park

She pondered the pebbled sand
The tide crept in slowly as a three-legged iguana
I witnessed this in stillness, thinking
     of...and remained silent.

1.11
s.d.

Inbox

Again, my Inbox grows from zero to one...
And so it seems the day is never done.

11.10
s.d.

Ode to Pinot Noir

Sleeping with open eyes and typing fingers
I digest a random Pearl Jam song
And smile fondly before the new echelon.

I consider the what else
How I tripped up, but wouldn't change a thing
And landed in cloudless California.

10.10
s.d.

Friday

My calf is aching
And my brain can't quite process...
Can you repeat that?

9.10
For a friend.
s.d.

Peruvian Incas

Peruvian Incas
seldom suffered heart disease
and loved building stairs

8.10
s.d.

Old Logging Road

The old logging road
An orange salamander
And I realized this couldn't possibly be a haiku
There was too much to say about
The pitiful lizard squatting in the gravel

Bright as a neon sign
Hardly cloaked
Seemingly afraid of our footfall, or curious
Or searching for Stratton Pond
As a dozen more appeared

The old logging road
Looking like the Vegas Strip
Blazing with construction orange
Of thousands of salamanders, the only diversion
From a piercing rainstorm

7.10
s.d.

Ten Ways of Remembering April

Reprieve from February. Tramping through
the Garden State. Played games to pass the time.

Talking of amber in afternoon heat. Walked with a noticeable
limp. Coquettish smile without laughter. Eye noticed
the red velvet cupcake. Pale as a salted cat.

Impermanence is such a beautiful
word. Most days it rained.

2.10
s.d.

Wanderer's Barter

Trundling onto another capsule,
Lugging my shirts and chargers,
I wonder if I'll still smile
Or merely nod in acknowledgment
Upon arrival.

     The wanderer's barter: a few
     Flat snapshots - nothing else
     Captures the confusion,
     The high-water mark etched in
     Adrenaline...

Exhausting pats and attaboys
From glazed-eye acquaintances,
I wonder if this marks an end
Of acknowledging nods among
Checkered-flag friends.

6.10 (revised)
s.d.

longing for home

rising rising in the air

above a world hes left behind

he stares out the window

and sees merely clouds

interspersed with the waves

five miles below

for a few fickle moments

the insipid hum

of the jets siren song

teases/tempts/traps

his fragile spirit

yet he cannot decide

if his ultimate ride

leads him forward or back

puts him on the right track

if it renders him stable

or wholly unable

to face life alone

with a heart full of stone

hes a wizened wayfarer

a will-o-the-wisp

an ancient memory

a human being

a few hours pass and

the jet glides down harshly to the

specked surface of a black tarmac

but the journey is over

for him and he breathes

a sigh of relief

its been an endless

hour/minute/second/lifetime

and hes tired

all the world is aloof

hes almost home now but

he stops short

and wonders where exactly that is

but there is a voice in his conscience

guiding him softly

so he closes his eyes

and forgets everything

before this moment

and smiles because hes home

11.07

I wrote this six years after "desire to travel."

s.d.