I don’t know what the word is
but I’ll find it
for you

Idle promise
made much of
when we were made of much less

I was in a book
waiting for you to walk in
not that you would
not that it was in your capacity
to do anything but arrive
awash in a world
dragged dutifully to doorstep

With enough years between us
I could find that smile
in each passing page
a reminder of late sunshine
goading me to get up
holding aloft
those dust motes
dancing as we must


Or Be Lonely

Hand in glove
sans idiom
this idiot
wants hand in hand
a symptom of memory
asymptomatic before her

Vaguery a necessity
in tracing love
her a vaguery
name lost
in the long night
of another

Stop me
if you’ve felt this
price paid post-mortem
in warmth
that together
we might find again

Eternal Sunshine

Her voice
a song whose tune
was unlearned long ago
whose notes find purchase
on stray words
lure meaning to rocks
made jagged by time

isn’t what I expected
what I was sold
when faced with guilt
absolution for a love
that lingers still
without a name

Ex Machina

All too evident
your displeasure
parts mass produced
to an argument
on demand

Pusher seeks button
for catharsis
mutual preferable
but not required
self should be assured
as beliefs
will be questioned

It’s not a mystery we needed

My love
with a word
in the bedroom

It would be over
soon enough
without her
pointless intervention
mere tarp
to make the body of years
easier to dispose

If it were clean
it wouldn’t be love
pieces dredged from fiber
years later
that moment again

In the bedroom
with one word
too many