Climb a Tree

I’m gonna climb a tree, break off every branch on the way.
Guarantee myself this time I’ll be free.
The garden was dead, except that last rose,
I pulled the thorns off and lay them on the sidewalk so you could see the path,
find me stranded.
Our escape from the past.
Your bare feet, so gingerly, avoiding the thorns pricks along the way.
Save the sky, the view is perfect.
From this treetop I can see all I need.
I need you and the clouds.
I need the moon when the sun goes down.
I need safety from all the onlookers who’ll never understand.


We’re all in passing cars like Venus to Mars.
At least that’s what they told me when I was a kid.
I stumbled upon her, she washed my feet,
from the basin with the dirt submerged underneath,
the filth of four decades and no release.
Water from downpours, now silent in relief.
Three words in union, a sentiment with attached strings,
held lofty with dowel rods, pivoting angel wings.
We’re just strangers now.
When the last hug has been passed around.
Strangers in the crowd.


I see your heart pulling away, or is it mine, it’s all the same.
The paint on a log, the multicolored rain. Or is this colorblind for me to find my way?
What was good for you, not ok for me too. Let this moment open a gateway to this half of a heart for me to break.
We are all habits to reclaim.

This hopeful scene plastered in a daydream, the truth, sordid and grey.
Sentiments of fallen ideals, less than real, manufactured in some false display- for you to reclaim.

All those concede, parts of you I didn’t want to see, not in line with my own faults
And the words we had shared, not past lives to bare- believe these moments as truth.

This mind is relentless, searching for heartache and sorrow well spent.
real people matter, feelings we all break.
Because birth to death is not easily explained
No more worry to project.

Lit Up

I rise and I fall,
so what.
My mind is a racetrack.
I want it all and I want it back,
so what.
I’ve been here before: flashbacks, retreat and starting over.
Not as a rule, just survival.
My mind takes off again.
And there is no plug, no light switch.
There is no way I want this as my routine again.
I gave up so much the last time I got out of the ward.
So what.

Mind peeling away the rinds and underneath I find that I am responsible for the output, and what goes in, and nothing more.

Counting Daylight

The need for you, us… lust
and to deny human touch.
Where were you all those years?
I gave up.
My head scanned for you, imminent souls colliding,
physical yearning, and nothing left to deny me.
Nothing special here,
I saved my guts to stretch
out on your bed,
just to hold the back of your head,
your neck clamped in my vice grip fingers.
Weigh me down and pinned inside your spare, fervent thighs,
so tightly wound, box me in,
make the sheets tremor and writhe.
Left to the mercy of night, or anytime the urge
takes you from prostrate,
to legs and waist,
coiling in the sheets where I can find your warm spots,
wasted not– but taken fully in stride,
and grappled flesh, impossible to hide.
Never lost on a man, who cannot adore you enough.
Counting the digital numbers, seconds, and texts;
all drawn out in hours, not breaths
… Until the next moment we touch.