Wednesday, April 10, 2013

eighteen years

time is just numerical
a qty of sequences
ones and twos
lined up endlessly
in repetitive rows
like musical notes
to be played over and over
always sounding different
depends on the ear
eighteen years, the same as
six thousand five hundred seventy days
this spot was an empty void
inside me, waiting as usual
to feel something
akin to some lame quote
from romantic comedies
eighteen years, the same as
one hundred fifty-seven thousand,
six hundred eighty hours
I spent less than four hundred
miles from you
at any given moment
listening to the same music
on the same radio waves
and walking the same pavement
in the same cities
only to pass by the same parking lot
where we once sat on the hood of your car
sharing cigarettes
and awkward glances
I would stare at your arms
you would watch my lips move
never really getting anywhere
eighteen years, the same as
nine million four hundred sixty thousand
eight hundred minutes
I spent incapable of moving towards
anything of permanence in my life
be it my choice or chosen for me
by some twist of fate
I’ve wandered back to the starting line
if only to wait for you to
reset your clock
and synchronize your watch once again
with my own
eighteen years, the same as
five hundred sixty-seven million,
six hundred forty-eight thousand seconds
spent to find you
exactly where we are standing

Wednesday, April 3, 2013


there are white walls
blank canvases
to hang smiles upon
captured moments
empty wood floors
awaiting the sound
of bare feet
quiet steps in
the early hours of the morning
sitting in front of the television
watching saturday morning cartoons
eating cereal from my favorite bowl
forgetting I've been
an adult for years now.
there is clean air
that has not been made into
angry black mold clinging to
remnants of what is living
growing within walls
hidden from the eyes of visitors
to multiply
after midnight
dead now from
exposure to light.
there are open doors
without any hesitation
windows open to the future
where i can exhale
within a home decorated
with new memories
born of the briefest moments
those seconds
when his face
would rest at my forehead
never knowing
i was always home