Month: February 2013


it’s easy to make
a beautiful memory
into a beautiful poem

but now I’m wondering
what happens
when the memories
run out?


Seven Poems

here I go again
mumbling something about rats
hungry for crumbs
folding clothes for job interviews
ticking away like a nautical mine

flipping like a dolphin in a game
of solitaire
reading office-related humor
even though I’ve never worked in one
and typing structureless phrases

I’ve written seven poems tonight
what have you been doing?
having a life, I guess

Perfect Game

I made the three ball on the break
walked around the table
he was dribbling beer on his shirt
“seven, corner pocket”
I tapped and sunk the seven
he was grabbing at the waitress
as he drank another beer

I made the four and the one
in consecutive shots
“hurry up,” he slurred,
“I gotta take a piss”
I nailed the two on a bank shot
waited for him to return
he came back bellowing some tune

I called the five in the corner
it went according to plan
“don’t fuck it up now!” he laughed
as if he said something clever
I called a tricky shot
and spent a while taking aim
then sent the six into the side
all the stripes still on the table

there was a cluster of them
between the cue and the eight
I didn’t have much of a shot
he chugged another beer and belched
“if you make this shot, I’m not
playing anymore”
that was all the incentive I needed

I struck right underneath the cue ball
so it leapt over the barrier
knocked the eight ball in the corner
I had played a perfect game
he dropped his stick and hollered
“fuckity fuckity fuck!”

money changed hands
then I went back to my table
ordered a beer for myself
the best game of pool I ever played
had just been wasted


my lover unfolds
beautiful and open
she wears a tired smile
and the sheets are in knots

sometimes I still get nervous
when she pulls me in close
and she opens like a flower
and the planets align

she’s poured into my window
with a voice like summer rain
filling up the room and I’m surrounded

I see her peeking at the clock
and twisting into knots
she says, “you should keep me
up a little bit longer”


sleeplessness has struck again
but I won’t make a sound
our apartment is small
and I’ve kept her up late
she deserves a good night’s sleep
without me tinkering around

she likes having me in bed with her
and I like being there
but my mind is like a speed train
and my pen is down the hall
so for now, I’ll lie in bed and
let my thoughts go to waste