If I wrote a Love Sonnet

Through my lenses
with sleepy eyes
I derive
other sides
to your insides
behind walls
within rooms
unvisited
barred entry
but I snuck in
through windows
climbed over a fenceway
in a doorway
and under a skylight
to gather insight
to see why you fight
the sunshine
from trickling down
stairwells
only starry eyed frowns
when I will my smile
to be contagious
infectious
maybe even delicious
to awaken
other senses
to pry you away
from preconceived notions
and
underdeveloped potentials
of navigational patterns

digestion

Time
my misstep
taken with
water,
small blue pill
swallowed
same time
every day
one in the morning
one in the evening
allows me
to forget
I am weary
wary
what if things
unfolded into a
different collection
captured moments
through corneas
frozen
onto the ripples of my brain
with digital imaging
worry is my weakness
sweaty palms
panic babies
kicking me
all over my guts
small blue pill
swallowed same time every day
one in the morning
one in the evening
it eats away my fear
like pacman
even if my ghosts
keep chasing
the good
away
leaving me
with myself

Suffocation

Giftwrap my hurt feelings
with yards of blue ribbon
I can pull from my insides
spilling to oceans
presenting myself
with the best of intentions
my heart doesn't learn
without teaching it lessons

the words get backed up
like traffic jams
flood gates held back like
river dams
when I don't speak aloud
I choke on swallowed alphabets
to suffocation

Take my favorite pen
to write down the details
checklist my imperfections
to create novels
best selling myself
with the best of intentions
my heart doesn't learn
without teaching it lessons

the words get backed up like traffic jams
flood gates held back like
river dams
when I don't speak aloud
I choke on swallowed alphabets
to suffocation

Spinning Tops

Just as you are
with flaws, imperfections
frustrations involve
spinning tops on the hard wood floor
so close to an open door

Fall through the cracks
like forgotten faces
eyes look around
in every direction
except right on me
where they ought to be
spilling hearts like a open wound
from my side

Just as you are
with flaws, imperfections,
frustrations involve
spinning tops
on the hardwood floor
so close to an open door
Fall through the cracks
like forgotten faces

I love you still
even if you don't mention
the fit of my dress
the cut of my hair
or the way it sweeps over my eyes
focused on you

Just as you are
with flaws, imperfections,
frustrations involve
spinning topson the hardwood floor
so close to an open door
Fall through the cracks
like forgotten faces

Syncopation

the house smelled of
Heineken and parliaments
always seeming dimly lit
smoky, sad walls and cold floors
that watched me enter silently
hours after dark had fallen quietlyto abandoned suburban streets
your piano played with musical scars
from angry days of time signature bludgeons yet,
your hands were elegantweapons of your trade
handing me the blues in syncopated time
smooth tunings of a radio dial on the am audible waves
with curving lines of bass clefs wrapping from your hands to mine
forgetting days of those who held too tightly
some men do not leave marks
I remember you would say while playing miles davis
and introducing me to a thing called jazz music
still leaving imprints deep through my skin
like audible tattoos,
turning the walls in the room to deep cobalt blues,
saxophone telling this sad story
with notes like tears,
spitting syncopated
the rhythms from my silent fears, my insides
all wrapped up in your outsides
deep set eyes that never saw the light
your heart had a downbeat from jump street
keeping time with my memory line
turning my sorrows into sweet red wine
lyrical soliloquies
you left a stain on me
from outpoured sensibility
the house smelled of Heineken and parliaments
turning my senses to something like awakening
from a sleep deprived nightmare of complancency
into artistic reawakenings

February

Unfolding origami bodiesDropping messages with secret images Whispered in tongues foreign To arms becoming hands
Becoming then just
skin upon skin
Yet again memories surface On coat tails of emotions That moment of caught hands Lingering too long Delicate papers with stamps that could Send words to distant worlds
Paper envelopes sealed by lipsTwo cranes Blue lit by moon sight unseen Relearning the delicate art of Such intricate patternmaking Once taught through touch Innocent fingers would thread ribbons Through braids Unfolding origami So quick to disassemble years of creation Paper chain link fences crumble Beneath large rain drops Dried tear drops leaving salt traces
Like crystals In curved lines abundant To smooth out all
The rough edges
Relearning the softness that
Nestles in with intensities
Restless yearning, clawing, pulling
Back to this place

Heartbeats

The fist shaped organ beating in the heart of hollywood, flowing life through los angeles, and those whose feet pound pavement, searching in vain for lost scripts, and forgotten lines, and existing plots.
Maybe it was the music but I was reminded of old faces and a more innocent time. Either forgetting hurt feelings or perhaps heightening the experience,
recalling a time when I was less jaded by the hills surrounding us.

Maybe the music broke my heartChipped away at surrounding ribcage protection to invade me
It cried out from below my feet and tumnled like crowd floating to the pulsating drumbeat of the stage
Offering up my lonliness on this alter that understands me better than the status quo. Telling me to be optmistic in such a pessimistic town, absorbing the collective energy of those around.

The red lights beat light like an EKG and my own responds unable to let go of an unsaid force inside of me that is begging for the moment things turn from bright hot sun to the cool gray dusk of stillness.

this place is like a church, as we all face forward to find our spirituality. In modern uniforms of faded tshirts and boots, we are the cynics looking for something, lost and found, upon starry sidewalks