short-term fulfillment

I lay motionless
Imagination
Bathes me in short-term fulfillment
My mind like the sun easily dances
Between sides of the window
While my body like the rain
Perpetually raps at the glass
Longing, unable to reach the other side
To my self, I am inescapable
The prisoner and the prison guard
I am at once bursting into flight
And bound to defend the sky
I am that falling thing
That wonders in limbo
Where it will land
Seeking to create its own destiny
Fall at the whim of some other gravity
If just to be different
If just to have chosen
Before impact
Upon what it will break

second nature

Light
Clustered
Caught and released
In turning signals of passing cars
And tops of slowly dancing trees
Dreaming, scheming
Elsewhere in time and space
Until a familiar code snaps me back
And unlocks a mindless sequence

"Tall decaf soy latte"

Open
Grab
Steam
Pound
Wipe
Grind
Tamp
Spin
Pull
Twist
Tap
Swivel
Pour
Deliver
"Next!"

hands must build

Hands must build

Must leave a mark

Some sign of something done

Of having been

Of being moved

Of having need

And finding fix

Before they rest calmly by

The sides of quiet ribs

A heart that does not beat

A mind that does not pursue

Before the cold gray cloud

Settles in and muffles the sounds

Stiffens the nerves

Stills the blood

Before the eyes cease to swim

In deepest dreams

Tossing and turning

Under sheets of skin

Lost in wonder

Before lips dry and crack

And taste no longer

The crisp change of November

The riddle of foreign flavors

The fifty dollars in a five ounce glass of wine

Before skin can shrivel

Peel like birch and ripple like oak

Feel the curious fingers of youth

Marveling at the callouses and wear

That age brings

Before the final breath

Like a ghost escapes unseen

And carries with it the dreams

And the weight

Of a lifetime of means

Hands must build

a crooked line

Let me show you the meaning

Behind a crooked line

For life is a vein of endless diversions

No edge exists without corner or crook

No tide that does not cradle the shore

Like arms under a newborn bend

The ocean forgives the land its sins

And takes as it gives, bubbles of salt for pebbles of sand

No line exists that does not flex

But one that breaks

Under the burden

Of the desire to be straight