Here

Take the pallor words doddering off the windowpane like melting snow
and post messages of hate distance or disdain on your clothes like armor
if it wasn't for those full heads of hair I'm sure you wouldn't scan the train everyday
they know what you're looking for
it's that glove over the heart when it's too cold
fog stalls stagnantly barking white tears
that perfect sky is too shy to show it's face
a pace similar to standing still but supine
waning doubts tossing and turning
mending stories with iota bandages
I can't help but reflect that unease
here, illusions appear like a brisk breeze
it's ok, I'll pay to see merely a smile.

Afraid of Walking Backwards

I don’t know what you’re like anymore.

It’s been months since I last set a gaze on your form.

Those skyscrapers jetting into the great blue, askew,

windows reflecting aged jewels of earth hue, streets

complete with passing cars tumbling every hour, languid

lake lapping lazily as the breeze fingers its skin, pacing

trains curving in the Loop screeching and scolding, rails

scratching like violins arpeggio, legs quickly kicking down State St.

trying to get away, foot prints, twos and fours, in the

snow all jaunting everywhere and nowhere each day (eventually

disappearing which causes dismay),

indigo nights freezing what’s exposed, closed Michigan Ave. as

that midnight blanket wafts over their eyes, mustard lamps

dully thrown on empty buildings, rambunctious crowds bibulously

crooning to the moon, swooning conjuncts piecing together for warmth,

dead pier dismally waiting the return of spring, flings and rosy-cheeked

guffaws, wedging lips outside theaters, dinners under candle light as snow

dances and sings on the streets, sirens and horns are the soundtrack once

your head collapses onto that soft home.

I don’t know what you’re like anymore, Chicago,

I’m afraid of what I’ll see,

I may seem different to you,

but you’ll always look the same to me.

Fly By Fly Hi Fly Why

Wings are things meant to soar,

underscore the door lingering lackadaisically painted a dull drool,

fools holding hands frightened at the coming mountain peaks,

their stomachs leap into their mouths and out,

oh that fear hooks you like the crescent moon,

wide-mouth fish absently swaying innocently,

linguist thumbing a clavichord warbling at the noon,

baker supine sipping wine whispering, “a little too late dear,” obdurately,

veering left that jalopy is exhausted puffing ten-packs a day,

those jumper cables virulently infect that engine,

this fork sticks them like raw meat,

their feet scathed,

completely rapt by the horizon,

lips shut as if the words are all lost,

she grows those wings onerously jetting into that great blue,

he quiescently sits cross-legged peering at the shadow shrinking,

thinking, “upon which way, stay, go, or perhaps…I don’t know,”

his heart blossoms skyward shredding the heavens,

he’s rooted into that former,

patiently contemplating everything latter,

“better than running away,” he prays.

We Are

Stop stealing the Sun, we are the criminals tearing out the faces in old photos

our steps mimic heart-beats chiming in the snow,

our minds shield the world from that indigo morning,

our chests are linked by the elongated chain locked deep inside,

Stop whispering lies, we are the creators of our own dismal paintings,

our movements shadow subconscious feelings of doubt,

our activities dispose of all that jumbled jargon littering the floor,

our hopes sync with the last goodbye carved into our soul,

Stop pretending to be, we are the fools who won’t say the most crucial first word,

so our true souls will stay parallel,

never being able to finally be.