another message
a subject line

a flat assumption
that you are
owed my time

and a reminder
what’s mine is yours
but mine ain’t mine.

no matter
what i’ve said
or redefined

about changing our
for the thousandth time

you hear
your own voice only
saying ‘like this, is just fine.’


the story refolded
into straight lines
molded around
better times
and even though
we know better
this letter
won't fit
in the mail
we admit
that most 
of it
never happened.
funny that
as we grapple
with constant edits
wonder who said it
one truth
becomes true
even though
both of us
have tried
to say it better
no one
ever stays
for all of 
the credits.

job hazards

Post-its are squirrelled in every pants pocket

HB pencils leave jet streamed lines on my shirt like skyrockets

My fave marker I mark with leaks, squeaks, and runs

The pen I just lost will be found just after I start a new one

Whiteboards are stained with all my best lessons

Wifi could be back on in 10, 20, or 30 minutes I’m guessing

Where are my keys? I swear they were right here in my classroom

Ah shit they’re at home, in the upstairs bathroom

What’s that in my cup? Not sure what I’m drinking

It’s probably coffee from last week I’m thinking

My back and my feet and my gut are starting to ache

Should be fine though, if I can get a quick toilet break

I need to check voicemail but don’t want to take that chance

Cause that questionable coffee makes me think I might crap my pants.

summer and snow

I set fire 
to a poem,
red sparks rise
and roll
into the sky,
the further they fly
from my hand.

tumble awkwardly,
left then right,
no longer my proxy,
on the night breeze.

their crispness,
the colour difference
between them
and the stars-
actual balls of fire-
confuses me.

from pages,
from life,
drift down
like summer snow
I am compelled
to accept 
the ironic
and paradoxical.

I released them
before their 
flame could
consume me.

I expect
to feel some 
of their warmth 
as they come
to ground.

when one hand
can easily wipe 
the charcoal smears 
from the other-
all the permanence
that those words
once served,
once held,
is gone.

can’t stop, even for one second

~for karen

this heart,
skipping rocks
with ease downstream,
constructing beats knowing
so little of the silly hopscotch of
the world, just the constant
push on its insides. no
wonder it spends
hour upon
hour pressing back.
with small miraculous feats-
one thought, one pump at a
time- all lines, blue, red, wish filled,
and fine- tell so many simple
stories on the skin
in sighs.
with a sure flow
so thick there’s really
little doubt for whom these
bellows toll. from where you perch,
how does it sound though? what
keys have you found? and
what traps have
you wrapped
around my soul?
at first I thought you
were a thief. oh this heart,
my gold, my light I thought you
stole it, instead you moved
in and built a life-
not soft or hard,
but just right.

you don’t say?

The silence,
deep and rising-
“I want.”
“I need.”
“I think.”
was never said.
“You should.”
“We should.”
“They should.”
Disguised us

The moment
begged for
but all
that we could
for sure
was that
we didn’t
more than
we knew.

I stewed.
of grew.
Became a

of quiet
would have
been better
mark my
path with
many tracks;

leave fear,
carry facts;
that we can
be beautiful
and we can
be useful
and we can
choose words,
while we
say nothing,
that might