poem

The Runner I Watched

You ran and I was watching you run
in circles around me
Like a runner in ecstasy of winning
an illusive trophy.

Warm it was, that night.

I said plenty I realize
it must have been too much
but not enough
clearly not enough.

This torture
of inexperience is not enough
We are left with none
to begin with.

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Long Dis

somebody’s playing a song
of long distance love
my hum in the background

between phone calls
and dinners
we can call it a long distance love

if by every step you walk on,
we can count the times we walked together
if it was yesterday
maybe we can do it again

Lune

If by reason
I need to follow
I would rather be mad.

To follow is to lose
the shine of darkness and
my world in its empty delight.

Velvety moss,
dipped in hollow verses
when I lay I look and imagine
to fly to cry.

To fly, I went
and held in my hands
the yellows, the blues, and the reds
until each dies into black abyss.

And looking down
eternal deaths in a maze
half in the glinting sun
the rest in the sight of lune.

 

Intoxicated

I am uneasy,
uneasy, uneasy.

Overwrought, synonymous.

My handsa re clammy.
My head is spinning
like a ballet dancer
in an unending act
still spinning and spinning
my spindly feet en pointe.

The note in octaves hammering
trembling lights, thundering lows.

Repeat, on loop, staggering
still spinning.