Existential Crisis

The eyes looked up vacantly, expectantly,
toward the darkening sky.
Silent and wide and drinking in
the dim light of the waking stars.

We were far away tonight,
watching our dreams narrow and shatter
against the sharp horizon like fiery glass arrows

(the remains of which glowed as they fell into place,
leading us slowly into the billowy blackness).

Procrastination and a Skewed Sense of Time

Why do I do this to myself?

I know the time is coming
quick and hollow
like Christmas songs
before holiday cheer:
sickening and I don't realize
how disorienting it is
until it's too late and

Someone's already been trampled in Walmart
for presents they can't afford to buy.

That's where I am.
Stuck, between a hard place
and several worn soles.

I just can't force myself
to get this all finished.
I just can't force myself to begin.

I don't really know where to begin.

Tongue Forgot the Way Back

*NOTE: Sorry this one was late again, but I am working on something new for the blog: Video Poems!  Above is the first of what I hope will be a long line of them.  Let me know what you think!  As always, the actual poem will be listed below.  Enjoy! :3

I woke up yesterday realizing that I am not Africa.

I have not been Africa for a while.
My hair and skin my speak African,
but my lips and tongue forgot the movements.

My lips and tongue forgot the way back.

I am and have been American, only,
for over a century, if not more.
I was lifted away from that distant home
some time ago, forever ago,
and became separate from its history.
   I thought it might be hiding in here
   somewhere,

But, my lips and tongue forgot the way back.
And they were my road map.

So now I'm following forest green street signs
waiting for one to point me in the direction of my history
and my future.

Not having a history, and having no history
truly, leaves one disjointed and slippery
like colored paint.
    Easy to wash away.

Puzzle Pieces

Bits of picture plastered cardboard
tumble down haphazardly
onto cool, morning dewy me.
     They place themselves
     effortlessly
onto my exhaling belly
and wait.  The space
     between the breath -
and they fix themselves together,
completing the image
without letting me see.

It's my lot in life,

to know when...

but not where

 or how.

Lemonade in November

In Southern California,
there's always lemonade in November,
and ice cream in December.

The heat makes it necessary
to live in summer
during this confused, "sort of" winter

where the trees blow a bit
and the ground is slippery and gleaming
for a week.

At most.

The Lighter Reflections

Hey everyone!  Sorry I missed a post for the last week.  Since school started I've been SUPER busy what with work and such.  Never fear though!  I'll be posting my routine poem tonight, and another tomorrow night to make up for the missing one.  Hope you like it!

Louise


I watched his profile disappear behind the mirror.
I watched his reflection smile and frown
as he found himself, finally.

It was as though Narcissus had possessed him,
or the mother whom fate had forced to
flee.  Loving and inconstant,

his gaze bore holes in the silver glass,
treated with toxins and abrasive chemicals
and holy water,
to reflect what he'd forgotten

like a river,
clear and dishonest:
only feathers or pixie dust may be carried by the flow.
All things heavy eventually settle along the outer edge

to be seen only by a strange passerby.

24 Miles

Standing on the edge,
the man breathes in deeply
and allows the oxygen to calm his pulse.

Inhales,
and leaves the world breathless
and captivated.

He tilts his head over the platform,
above the shining blue Earth;
falling, he becomes as a shooting star:

bright, effervescent, and free.