Poetry

Constant

We walked side by side between planets,

watched their oceans swell and fall

into stardust, theorizing how Saturn’s rings

may be its core

after its writhing energy tore out

to form its own globe.

 

The stars can be seen during day on Mercury,

but I can see them at any time I wish

in your eyes.

Our markers held well over the year,

the beats sounded and shook me giddy.

 

In the grain of that bench under the maples,

our echoes will reside forever.

 

Poetry

Nice Trip

I’ve been known to trip on air.

And not merely stumble,

but fall headfirst into

 

a tree, lamppost, grass, concrete.

 

Some times are more painful than others.

 

People tell me it’s lack of attention,

that my head

is so far in the clouds

I can’t see what’s right in front of me.

But I promise you,

it’s just air.

 

How can I avoid air?

 

Now don’t be silly, even if

I hold my breath,

it’ll still be around me.

 

My theory is a little different.

I think I get drunk

on the vibrancy in my head

and the earth gets jealous.

It believes it can never

live up

to such standards,

and so seeks to jog them

from my mind.

 

What it forgets

is that in order to think

such wonderful, impossible things,

I must first learn to appreciate

the real, the possible.

 

Otherwise, there is no foundation

for me to then sculpt with.