Half of the Time

My heart’s only in it half of the time,

the other half fast fades away

but then for a bit, a moment sublime,

it goes along with the charade.

A bittersweet vision dancing in light,

a vision undoubtedly you,

but fast does it fade and try as I might

my world fades to a shade of blue.


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.


The Coffeeshop at the End of the World

My back is against the wall

but hey,

at least I can see

what’s coming to get me.

My back is against the wall

in the corner booth

of the coffeeshop

at the end of the world,

a constant midnight

illuminated by kitschy

signs and machines

fed in excess of quarters.

There’s a proper place

for the past, the present,

but my back is against the wall

with a flood of weak coffee

attempting to drown

it all.

There’s a limited menu here

at this hour, in the corner booth

with my back against the wall

at the coffeeshop

at the end of the world,

but no surprises

means no room is left for error.

It is error that brings one here,

error that keeps one here.

There’s little motivation apart

from the lukewarm water

that passes as coffee,

little solace in being against the wall–

a lot is coming to get me

but there are some who aren’t.

You won’t like my company,

the view is lacking,

the menu sparse,

the coffee terrible


if you found yourself here

then there’s an open seat here

at the end of the world

as we know it


Intimate Definition

I’m cautious using certain words

when crafting poems

since I have heard repeatedly

how great of a “love poem”

a certain piece is.

But friend,

aren’t they all love poems?

Who ever set in stone

that each one was and had to be

one of romantic love?

Are we not allowed friendship

in this vale of tears?

Are we not able to enjoy

the company of others

without the burning of flesh?

Aren’t all poems about love and lost love?

You can change its meaning

but it will not change;

love or leave

the intimate definitions.