Clouds and Trees

"Nothing ever goes away enough or arrives enough,/ and I want to cry when I think of my heart,/ muscle pounding in muscle, greedy always for joy." – 'A Warning', Eric Anderson

Month: November, 2008


The man with the multi-colored eye
cuts me open with a sideways look
And I say, “man, I don’t mind,
but if you find it, tell me,
’cause I lost it hours ago.”

The ticking of the clock wound me up
as the years dripped by
but an overwhelming rush of pain woke me
and made me up like I was alive
The labor of a life inside an hour
invited me
to collide with the never-ending trust
evidential through a windowpane
I could stare up at the sky
as saline drips into my side
and tell the birds what it’s like
to be inside
“Try a change!” they’d cry
and I’d cry with them
as my sheets run red
white-enameled men would tear me
from my bed only to find
that I’d escaped these softened walls
with dots on my arms
and my eyes in the sky


The Novelist

Take me home
to lie under pages
in childish sleep;
writing words of sights unseen.

Childish Regrets

truth over whispers
tearing me apart
safe for awhile
still, you’ve missed it

all of my enemies
ready to depart
afraid for awhile
of the distance

but we’re over everything
at least for the night
we’ve slept for awhile
and borrowed some time
from the trees, growing wild
in the wilderness we resisted

arrogance showed me
how long we were apart
and how much it hurt
to have missed it

make your amends
for the things that broke your heart
we’ve survived
still we’ll die,
just like we wished it

Polo Was Never My Game

Let’s be honest,
you look like some confused elaboration
of a rich father with too much time

Eyes Turned Inward

The film has finally returned
to sheathe my eyes,
filter the figments of the world,
and make this sparsely colored landscape
another memory
written between the lines

Coming of Age

I’m trying to live while I’m still sane,
but everyday tests my patience
Conquering the morning sun
has become a chore
Dining on a feast
of forgotten future ends
has become my nightly ritual
and it leaves the taste
of frayed vertebrae
on my hopeless tongue

I’m dolorous perhaps,
for someone so young
What has become
of the boy who knew
the ways of the world
whose left hand never strayed right
and whose horrors were kept at bay
by the enfolding blanket of night

Lesson Learned

allegories, allegories in my hand
stories, soft and sweet
tell me
something special

saved for tomorrow
my hand’s on my heart though
I never wanna kiss you
Though I know it’s hard
to believe

one day I’ll tell you
what I’ve been hiding
but the call of your insides
gets me to writing
and crying my lies out
which gave you
something sweet
and soft to say
but still you wait
with your wet
summer sleep

Ocean Song

There must be some place we go when we’re dead
to make our peace,
finally say “I love you”,
’cause good things never end

It’s hard to hold on
to silver summers, breaking.
And nights we broke down
with ladies holdin’ onto our hands.

I never told you
we were gonna make it
seems like
now’s the time to make our amends

Can’t you see there’s something
underneath our skin
that beats when we’re sleeping
and makes our eyes open again

well it’s told me something
I never understood
some words unspoken
maybe the summer’s broken
but those words, I will never forget

Give me your hand
’cause I’m going home now
out of the darkness
back to this island

the ocean is calling
a song, soft and silent
and one day we’ll answer
to sing with the current
but tonight I’m drinking wine with my friends

Summer’s breaking
and we’ve all been taking
these golden days for granted
just look up and see them
for what they were worth