VERBALLISTICS:

Paper Face

here
is my unsubtle origami
all scrawled up
with the bent words
of feelings

incapable
of folding inward
a wide-winged, flapping
swan of sentiment

you are an envelope
of secrets
a private letter
inscribed to your own
insides

I am every postcard
ever written
a bold-faced book, left
flung open

my cover
so easily
catches fire


In a Poem About My Father

the image of a horse leaning over the water
may be more than a horse leaning over the water.


One must be aware
of all of the possible connotations


of the word father. A complete knowledge
is impossible but the desire towards it, admirable.


The words "I love you" may be out of place,
the way a backpack left in an airport is also out of place.


A poem about my father may require further reading,
a Biblical scholar, whole cities of interpreters.


It is perhaps better done in a painting
or in the language that a fire speaks.


Certainly the image of a man reading to his son is safe?
Father, mother, brother, and sisó


in a poem about my father,
I have fallen from a horse leaning over the water.

(by David Nielsen)

Towering Babble

unsuited
to quiet thoughts,
my mouth moves
even in sleep

spilling my secrets out,
uprising seawater
licking the sand’s toes
lapping myself like a dog

and, this night
found me
all tail wag and tongue
at the thought of you.

I stuffed my mouth
with a handful of snow,
hoping to ice
all this sweetness

hoping
to thicken my tastebuds
with cold,
but instead

it all melted
spilled
from my pink lips
to hit the cold brick

of your smile,
struck down
with impossible timing.
In retrospect,

I
should have taken
a bite
of your frigid heart -

known
I was foolish
to reach for the stars,
hoping

to pry open
the rapture of God,
wielding only
my own

stumbling
tongue,
my own mythical
etiology

this time,
I swear
I’ll cease sharing
nocturnal linguistics

I'll learn
to stop dreaming
nirvana
so loudly


Just graduate me, for fucksake (a haiku)

I sell poetry.
If that doesn’t demonstrate
business skills, what does?




hyperopic regression

Up close,
your eyebrows are a forest
of slim, graceful trees
and you smell something
like cedar

like the closet
I used to hide in
as a child,
something touched
with wild abandon
dusted with the musk
of adventure
or musty dust mote
floating
in a ray of Sunday,

My god -
how I've missed you
so

I've memorized all
the details
of your absence
each empty click
of the clock's arms
reverberates
to embrace the minutiae
of the day

I still hold you
close,
enclosure of my heart
sequester
of my most beloved self

Still
catch your warm scent
coffee-roasted familiar

Still regard you
with limerance,
limelight lover
bright center of my epic
vision

but
then
again
I have been
so nearsighted
in love


In what place do you rest your head? - m4w


favorite this post In what place do you rest your head? - m4w (where I long to be) hide this posting

zodiac: ♓ pisces




In what city do you tonight rest

with vacant walls? vacant hearts? or is it just the cold of Winter

I know, I know, It isn't the last farewell

but how heavy my heart at the moment of parting



how will I find you, or you me?

even if I know for certain you will return

a sad wind shifts in the direction of your departure



Time passes slowly behind these lonely eyes

the rain patters delicately on the roof

not so the tears that fall to the floor

A calendar page drops and waits, hesitantly

a road reaches as far as the ocean and the distant hill



I could call your name a thousand times, there'll be nothing

but the sound of leaves falling to the streets

even if I knew you thought of me

my heart could not stop longing

post id: 6083461166

 

If you would only look....closer - m4w


favorite this post If you would only look....closer - m4w hide this posting



My love,

From here I see the waving green grass of the sea,

O, to meet you here at the edge of my life,

and over there, you

silent

shrouded in mist

holding my heart

post id: 6082464139

 

balance


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balance
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I just want to sleep

close my eyes

relax with abandon

then wake up in the sweat

of the dreams

from the embrace of

your arms swinging across

my shoulder and pulling

me close and

taking the only leverage I had

post id: 6077473202


the help

Never invited
to the party; I clean up
after the others.

libations

Wine for a mellow night
tequila for a melee
whiskey for a melody
and bourbon for a story

Coffee for morning sunlight
and tea for nighttime coughs
fresh juices to lend countenance
and kvass to flush the dross

Floats for a whimsical moment
and cider for cravings of warmth
champagne for news and good tidings
your mouth for a nightful of mirth.