We weave connections in human webs –
An invisible tangle of paths entwined,
As our fingers leave trails of human threads
Woven into a memoir of time.
Pieces of the world – A poem
I think my skull would rattle if you shook it –
filled with an assortment of past things.
I’ll pluck and keep them as trinkets,
souvenirs, mementos of has been.
I fear losing thoughts, and days,
so I pocket reminders of each place I go
(in heart, in mind, in body, in soul).
Submerged in water – A poem
I awoke with my head submerged in water,
ears blocked, the world locked out of my perception.
There’s a knock on a window somewhere but I can’t tell which one
this muffled echo is coming from – a pathetic attempt at a sound.
I’ve lost touch with my senses, like they’re running out of battery,
confused with each other, I can feel sounds but not hear them.
Hidden voices – A poem
Anything can sound like a voice if you need to hear one –
kitchen white noise – the refrigerator humming,
creaks in the plumbing are less scary if you long for just someone
(anyone?) to hear you (maybe I heard footsteps on a creaky floor).
Fossils of the human heart – A poem
I shed dead skin in a trail
of diary entires and old poems,
snaking through my life’s path –
the fossils of the human heart,
footprints, preserved in stone.
We met in the garden of unearthly delights – A poem
I guess I simply never knew
That after dusk, an unsuspecting Thursday
Would turn into a hug from someone new,
Or that on such a fortuitous fateful night,
The most unearthly delight would be you.
pink – a poem
my cheeks flush easily,
outsides matching my insides,
brimming with feelings of
pink – blissfully enchanted,
rosy and love-filled,
Silence as a weapon – A poem
We blink silence back and forth,
Secrets beclouded by our eyes,
A tightrope tension between lips,
Or hearts, together we’re tongue-tied.
Life is long – A poem
Grit your teeth and bite your cheeks,
Craft the moment with your bare hands.
Let the words slip out, just in case
They’re never on the brink again.
Give your heart, clasped with shaky fingers
And fight for it – life is short.
Serpentine – A poem
There could be many things cloaked by a snakeskin –
A wobbling thought weaving through tall grass,
Or a spine shattering dread hissing
And twisting it’s way up your neck,
Or a wrist worming it’s way around your waist
With fingers walking where they aren’t welcome.
