Meandering Wants

Where thoughts die

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The rain weeps 
pearls down your back
As I trail quietly behind,
minding each imprint
you leave in the sand. 

A sudden stop and I,
head down, barrel into you,
emitting a clumsy regret.

You turn
touch my nose
and smile.

I smile and we
continue on. 

Filed under Quickie poetry

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a dream, and more

Something about this hopeless dream, where wanton rails
switch and separate, keeps me looking, lost and lonely. 

The idle sky keeps me walking; the storm has not yet come.
Canvas clouds deign to take the form of whatever I wish; 
Wispy ghosts of you now sail the sky — a dream, no more.

(Wow, I really can’t write much lately.  Like… at all.)

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I found a snippet in my email. Apparently it was something I threw out at work and emailed to myself.  Just came across it while I was clearing out all of my old emails. So, here:

You’ve left the scars
hanging heavily on
plastered walls;
threats of crashing
through the floor
echo painfully
beyond the bedroom door.  

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The moon stood proud among our midnight dance.

You awoke before the stars fell,
lifting the lids and breaking the
evanescent canto of your dream.
I was there, I like to think, white sand cresting
between toes, crystal blue lapping them clean.

I had my own stories to mind that night:
All pathetic loss and breakable wants.
The strange weight of the midnight sky
held me under. A nightly drowning,
though I do not confess. 

(That is me forcing myself to write at a moment when I have nothing to say >.<)

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Since Tumblr makes it so easy to keep track and edit multiple pages on a single account, I just made a new page for short stories: 

Who knows if I will get around to posting one anytime soon. I can’t even get myself to write poetry at the moment.  I may just post one or two that I wrote in college, even though I can’t read them without a bit of mental vomit working its way around my head.   

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The east brings up the sun,
the moon falls to some other heart.
I stand, leaving the ghost
of your face pressed
on the pillow and the solitary imprint of
love minus one.

Dreams are
a shortly-drawn past and I
can’t seem to recall
what it is I ask for
each and every night. 

A concrete loss
for such an abstract heart.

I hear the furnace 
clicking and clacking, struggling
against the cold
and its age. Floorboards still creek
where I walk. Where you walked.
Where we walked. Danced
sang laughed cried loved
and talked.

But the sun is up
telling me to keep moving
through doorways and arches,
down roads and across bridges.

I will soon find some other place
where these feet and the steps they take
cannot trace the places we made our own.

Yet still, with the sun at my back
I will inevitably chase the moon
around this rock and let it catch me in the night.

Filed under poetry writing

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The steps we took
were hard
and fell apart
against new pavement.

Ocean-deep Irises,
long ago looked at,
remain an engraved memory
with my reflection
forever locked away.

(I’m having a hard time writing lately.  I may add on to this later.)


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We left the chair just sitting there; cold and brittle 
and cracked and brown. We were one too many
for this place; a story being told in a book whose binding
left too little room for a bold and happy ending. 

We couldn’t walk out together; the door was too narrow
and our bodies too material. You allowed me
to walk out first; had I known of turning to find
the door locked and closed, I would have declined.

Instead, your walkway pushed me at a reckless pace. 
I slipped beyond the garden; a blink and three months passed.
I still feel too much for what I have; you are here in heart
and I can keep but enough space to house hardly one.

Filed under poetry original poem Quickie

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What have you done?
This cadence is all wrong;
Hope is an unwanted beast
Fit to be chained.
It was meant to be
Beaten down before
Summer came
And I gone before
the creeping fiend could
Latch on. 

Where do you wander?
Your sad snowfall brought
Peace of the familiar and
Matched the pace of
This brittle heart. I still crave
Your chilling touch and
Ice-caged dreams.

You must return.
Allow the promised shattering,
Quick and forte-marked.
The summer is making
A mockery of my wants. 

Filed under poetry original poetry quickie