(2014)
You asked what I knew about you and I thought up a list of twenty things
Everyday I visit the only writers block I know to hone my words and wit and help them cut deeper into the skin
Passion doesn’t arise from 12 point Times New Roman but rather from ink on one page and another
I spend my nights wishing on every star in the sky that you are alive and well
I grew up in a house built in 1937 long before codes and regulations and sometimes
All that I know how to do is write about death without dying and write about life
I’ll keep searching for the meaning of life and I hope I find it as crumpled paper nearish a trash can
I was like a rain cloud over a small garden and dammit if you weren’t that garden so full of flowers that I fell in love
So much time passes without feeling a single thing that I think I would give anything
Just when I get back on my feet you pass on by and I lose my footing Again
Everyone sees god in a different light but I was born without eyes
I see poems that need to be written scrawled in the shape of your smile and the lines of your face
I see no joyous rebirth in spring for autumn will bring another death I see no joyous rebirth
I wish you had told me that on the good days kissing you would make me think that I knew what happiness was and on the bad days
The road is long and winding like nothing you can imagine Too many off ramps to count but too few in hindsight
