Perfectly Poignant Poem

These words are full
Of prophecy and wit
Though others would say
They’re completely full of
Shitty near misses
And one hit wonders

This poem speaks for itself
In a million tongues
It relates to everything you’ve
Said or done
It feels what you have felt
And speaks the truth

It drags The Epic down
From its pedestal
Kicks it in the shins
For good measure

It tramples The Sonnet
And rises from the dust
Let’s hope it’s not
A complete bust.

A perfectly poignant piece of poetry
Or perhaps just
Some words
I rushed

See them falter
See them fall
Settle on the forest bed
Leaves shed like feathers
This poem smirks
And at last is dead.


Cusp of Midnight

This year slides onto
The next

Tectonic plates
Shifting at a glacial pace

Before you know it
Passes you by

Cold air in your veins
A whisper of sleep

The sky is alive


And happy as she is


A losing game

Losing miserably

This sense of self

Dense and failing

Flag burning in the wind

Strings at my wrists

Pulled tight

A fight I cannot win

But I am trying for you

Even if you’d rather

See me curse

And fall from my perch

Eyes turned skyward

The Earth must repair

Her own wounds



A tangle of sheets,
You would never
Let me sleep,
My side was yours,
Dreams passing
Through fingertips
And half-formed words.

I loved you then,
Spilling tobacco on my bed,
Dampening the paper
With your tongue,
I leaned in for a kiss,
And whispered against
Your lips:
“Breathe your smoke
As truth.”


You didn’t look at the moon

Or the stars on a cloudless night,

How could you not

Stoop to one knee for the prose

Of the moon

And her bonnet of stars?

They scrambled

Arranged themselves neatly

Just for you,

For your eyes

To tilt and offer them


You offered them nothing.

You would even try.