ten nine

speaking of stutters
they’re all in fingertips, an
excuse,

the anti-rhythm of patience,
of directions i’m moving in.

move for
movement’s sake;
move because stillness
is still stifling &

sometimes you have to
shake that creative
juice
loose

prep those fingertips
for a nimble
numb untie
of the

noose

knot

really a
noose but the
daytangle of
monotonous schedule
& all that

adult responsibility
three hundred dollar insurance
coverage, cobra
slithers away
with so much of my
money.

spits in the eye of
every escape plan
i just
can’t sir.
cancer.

so you gotta have it,
gotta keep plugging away
at the everyday

for pay
the grey

turns to
gray

& you
stay.

ten eight

a timid pen is good
at pulling a weak line
from an empty page.

better yet:
give me a bold tip,
and a confident
imperfection.

say it with passion
or don’t say it
even if it’s wrong
even if words stutter.

i’d rather be
heard shouting
than whispering
brilliance
at nothing.

ten seven

this is a boring postcard
from the locale i just visited
in my mind.

something i grabbed
to give you
to say hey
i was just here, just now

here’s a picture
like all the other pictures.
a hello, for hello’s sake.

a cheap thinking of you,

because the gift shop
was out of shot glasses,

and i’m keeping the t-shirt.

ten six

murder me whimsically

for the replay value.

if this is a death scene,
i’d prefer cult classic
b movie camp

over psychological
thriller and the

stuff of real nightmares.

ten five

those ages i wrote
so many
bottled-up feelings.

secret wishes for
secret crushes

locked in
indecipherable
metaphor &
unintentional
simile.

this age:
an entire autumn
unspoilt by
expressions
of affection or vacuums
of unexpressed
affection.

a very
october feeling.

i am:
cozy inside
grey cool corners
colors behind fogged glass
spicy, slightly
overripe
warm open earth
chilling at the edges

ready for harvest
and the blankets
of winter.