Dare

Ash fell
on the
D.A.R.E. sticker
on his
desk.

"Those were the days."
he thought
and coughed.

Troy.

Once
you stuffed them
into ships and huts
Reaping the
fruits of their labor
Denying them humanity.

Now
you stuff them
into blocks and jails
Reaping the
fruits of their labor
Denying them clemency.

A Dream.

Once I dreamt
of Jonathan Franzen.
We shared a sweater
and a cigarette.
Before I asked him
how to write
I finished my drink
and woke up.

Growing Up.

I was a father once
had silver-gray hair

then

I became a child
and finally knew
everything I would ever need.

Breaking Beds

we wrecked a
bed
in youthful
wrecklessness

from the backseat
of our fathers’ car
to the back of the
bus

ten minutes
to downtown
was enough

other kids’ stupor
(turning into an
adults stigma)
never caught on
to us

your parents’ basement
a practice field
tests without results

we painted our story
with all the colors
we could
find

Our world held
together
by three words
and a
hair slide

We joined in
fearless talk of a
non-combatant
future

Dilemma.

I want to see people
and I want to see lights
and I want to stay in.

The pleasure, the privilege
in a room
keeping me safe.

I want to experience
but I
can't stand experiencing

the hideousness that
lurks around every
corner

So I am
cornered in the
four corners.

All that is left
to see
is on a screen.
The light that never goes out.

All That Is Left.

That moment
when you realize

all you remember
is the way it ended

the thrill of the first kiss
that first hand on
your hip

replaced by

a goodbye kiss
and a shrug
between your house
and the stars.

Commune.

We wanted to
      smash the system
but ended up
      smashed
drowning in sips
     of sorrow
as revolutionary as
    a clean kitchen
with heavy hearts
    and averted eyes
renewing subscriptions
    for the cause

Morning

You wake up in
a stale room void of
 the smiles and cries that
lingered too long and left
 too soon.

Between empty bottles
and boiling coffee
you embrace the glaring
memories pounding in
your head.

You slowly return from
the depths of night and
 brace yourself for
another one.

Notebook

Engulfed by words
buried deep in my notebook.

Sweet noise on my
headphones disassembling
the world around me.

The only way
to deal with
reality
is to create anew
and pretend it is
your own,

You and Him.

You met
on a balcony
a quiet understanding
amidst rambunctious noise
scrubby skin on stubbly skin


You stayed
for the night
a shared moment
among raging hearts
empty cups and satisfied smiles.


You left
before daybreak
a restless head
in a waking city
returning and departing.

Outside a Kebap Shop.

The tomatoes looked
like February,
last remnants of
colors past.
Reflections of
glistening promises
in eyes so aware
of their emptiness.

Tuned.

I want to slip into
a song

cuddle up with
a melody

go to sleep with
a beat

and find comfort
note by note

and sing along
and sing
alone.

Word for
word

you realize
that

you will
never

write anything
good.

Soliloquy

Hold back the tears,
drop vs. drop.

Quench your thirst,
with memories
of silent woods
and solemn beaches
of first sips
and lingering laughs.

Let your chronicle
beat the chemistry.

Home.

Talking down a road,
I trip over vowls,
stumble over consonants,
step on words,
get stuck in phrases
- weak and volatile,
short and strong,
long and languid,
until I finally find a

poem.

Telecommunication.

Caught in the last shadow of the year
between tea cups and coffee pots,
empty wrappers and broken bottles,
that one melody in your ear,
you redial.

August.

Standing on sweating blacktop
quenching your thirst with memories
of running along shorelines,
of building castles
and drinking sandy 7 Up,
like you never tasted
anything so sweet.

Drop.

Between a drop
and a coffee pot
Between a drop
and a coffee pot
Between a drop
and a coffee pot
Between a drop
and a coffee pot
- lies good luck.

On a Balcony

When our feet rested on concrete balconies,
beer in hand, music in back,
sunset in front,
it wasn't easier.
It only felt that way.