When Harry Met Sally (poem)

Twist of fate and suddenly
here we are -- alive inside
our vision of this
mess called limbo life.
Admit it. We mean more
somehow to each other than
anybody else but we still fail.
Navigating around our undeclared pitfalls,
thoughtful pauses where we try
honestly to be our best selves --
only we rely on our most subtle
nuances, those moments where
you say something with a million meanings
lacking the inflection to clarify the point --
and I'm no better.
Day in and day out, we build each other up
and let each other down.

for you (poem)

Tonight I want you
to talk about you.
I'm here. I'm in it.
I'm ready for this phase.
You are on the tilt,
close to a mechanical teeter,
so apt to sway on this fulcrum,
this pivotal point.
Both sides require you to fall.
I am here, though, here
for you -- standing, flat footed
on rock hard solid ground.
Look into my eyes
like you have so many times
and let yourself go.
I am here, I am here,
paced and leveled and anticipating.

Alive (poem)

Something sneaks
alive in me
right when you come
around the corner into view.
How you effect me.
Horrible gratitude floods
all the cavities inside,
right up to the point of drowning.
Rally point: level ground where
I can hide behind drunken
estimations of who you are
to me. To me,
who knows this love.
Oh, what rabid joy.
Leave me never, boy.
Feel my pulse of life.

Sun Salutation A (poem)

Sand is welcome between my toes
today and every day otherwise.
Emptying my mind of convention,
vinyasas drive me forward,
energizing my prana upwards
drawing stability in this flexible ground.
Another flip to updog,
vying for a spot in the soon-peaking sun,
every pose with purpose on this beach.

Odysseus (poem)

When am I going to wake up
on your distant shore?
Laying in bed, I remember
feeling peaceful stretched beside you,
still sleeping, snoring a little too loudly.
Tomorrow is another chance for us.
Always tomorrow.
Relive this dream another day.

Baxter (poem)

I got into a staring contest
with a cat and I won.
Across the room, he peeking out
of a plastic container, me in the doorway,
we locked our gazes for reasons
I'll never understand. Thirty
full seconds, then fifteen more
before he averted his eyes
and looked out the window instead.
I had outlasted the beast!
Nothing was gained from this challenge,
no lesson learned except
our eyes are both green with tiny gold flecks.
I stood up to something domesticated
and walked away with abnormal bragging rights.

Love Cliche (poem)

Bill asks, "Why
is every fucking song
they write about love?"
He is newly married
and forever in love
but I still see his point.
There are other things, you know,
other slices of humanity
worth working into a song.
Like, why don't we write
a song about knives
hurled at walls or
drawing baths to cure the spins?
Those are the things that happen.
Those are the elements of life's surprise.
Love is abstract in a song,
cliched to reality.
But it's why people sing --
to add a dimension to love
that we can all hear.