Poetry

The Eyes Have It

The eyes have it.
Yours didn’t.
Do I stay
or do I go?
I didn’t know.
Now we both exist,
we live our lives–good lives!–
but we cross paths
with passing glances.
I don’t need to know
but I sure want to.
Do we course correct,
do we connect, do we
throw all caution without care,
do we carry on
as two unpaired?
What’s the story
hidden there?
Is it one
you want to share?

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Poetry

When I Tried to Think of Her

The streets are wet with tears,

the roads dry with apathy.

At the intersection

there’s a yellow light

blinking at the speed

of dying dreams.

Above, above the radio chatter

is the singing stars,

coughing in the orange glare.

I walk along the gutter

and pass old friends and foes

in tandem.

It’s a long way but a short trip

and I haven’t seen you yet.