In statistics we see extreme scores head to the middle over time the depression grows lighter anxiety more bearable poor sleep improves slights are forgiven What was once so powerful mellows and folds into itself But I grieve this, too because I know that this all of this great tingling love it, too will regress to the mean
Tag: free-verse
Idiots
We might both be idiots Here is this bright thing in front of us and between that could be so good So far what we have come up with are reasons the timing is wrong things others might say and how cautious we should be about appearances We even held a whole conversation today about the ones who got away oblivious to this precious thing Here. Now.
Here you are
Here you are shaking with rage and demanding apologies from those you wounded when it was you who was so deeply in the wrong It was your words launching out to dismantle each of us breath by breath finding fault and sealing your pyrrhic victory
For Bill
You died a fistful of hours ago and half a world away a gentle leave-taking in your sleep surprising even yourself And what is there to say now in the newness of this world without you but thank you? All the complexity dissolves and it is simply your kindness I carry
Change
Change alone is unchanging. ~Heraclitus Change, my dearest companion alone in her constancy is in my waking, sleeping unchanging in her devotion
The Great Ordinary
What is the end of this story and all stories but the great ordinary? The lying down and waking up the washing of every dish Your sigh my stutter as our stiff fingers fumble to find each other
Two Birds
On my table: two golden birds in a small glass cage always turned gently to the other Curious but fixed and held there by their maker And I wonder what it does to me to see those creatures so Would it be better for me to smash it all open and let them fly?
Morphine, Mania
How much of my little life was made by their morphine, mania? The way I choose my words so carefully, expect too little, do too much This was all laid out for me long before my birth I may just be the logical conclusion of all their twisted dreams.
Four Things
You are kind when you say my accent is good. I deflect and assure you I can say only four things: I speak Chinese like a small child I'm sorry Please forgive me I love you
Plot
Today I am all tops without tails, titles without poems: Rain Check Bathtub Gin Morphine, Mania Middle School I will all of these bright seeds to bloom into verse. Sunday, I sat laughing with you and told you my novel went nowhere. I was all character. But I thrilled when you said: you can count on me for plot.
This Verse 