Ode to the Moon

Like a sun in the dark of night

the moon is full midst the cloud's ocean

illuminating the night with the brilliance

of light.

No stars shine, the blanket blocks all but 

this luminescent orb burning so bright that

it feels like day if you will allow the

paradox of sight.

I want to picture it perfectly but my camera eye

is not as good as my own biologic one

my mind frames it in the verse

of this page as if to 

say there is more inside

of my own imagination

than out there in the 

infinite universe

save the

concept

of 

vision.

Sometimes

Sometimes we choose to forget the horrors that surround us
sometimes I regret that I have forgotten the terrible events
that have happened within the span of my life,
that the evil men do can become so focused
that we forget that there was beauty there
before some tank came along crushing it
like a flower under the treads of hatred.
Sometimes we choose to stop looking back at the past
sometimes its too painful to do anything but nod in
the general direction of the destruction of the
innocent who did nothing to the aggressors
who will take it out on them instead of taking
the time to find those who actually provoked
them to take such extreme actions like a man
alone with a bomb wanting the world to share
his pain, his impotent anger, so he settles for
striking down anyone close enough to have
the misfortune to be on that city block that terrible day.
Sometimes the survivors can do little more than
shed a tear for the lost and almost forgotten
shed a fear for the children and loved ones
shed some care as if to say"Is it not enough that I cried"
Is it not enough that you lied when you told me
Time cures all wounds when in truth some wounds
won't heal as much as just scar over while we
hide them beneath layers of forgetfulness.

Eating Alone is like dating a daydream

Eating Alone is like dating a daydream
"Who are you talking to?"
Nobody but somebody should be sitting there opposite me
at the table for two, setting for one.
"We will have water without lemon."
I totally miss that I am talking as if she is ordering too.
The waiter looks at me with concern in her face
we both look at the empty chair as I shrug
"This is too weird."
It's weird and sadly tragic as embarrassment
wars with the discomfort that she will admit
the unseen presence by calling it what it is
"No lemon, water it is."
The moment is already to bitter to mix that
sad fruit into the mood of the table surrounded by
couples and family and groups of friends
and, and I just hate the whole thing
but I am hungry for company, for food
for companionship like a man alone in
the desert searching for water except I am drowning
in the ocean of people around me
"Here's your water, sir."
With lemon in it.

It's editing day

Due to my fortunate or unfortunate reading of my poetry to my parents (different occasions I promise), I realize that it's long time past due for some serious rewriting.
Anyone want to weigh in, let me know- except you Jake! you blew it with all those mariachi suggestions (seriously tacos was a little over the top dude) 

The Science of Loneliness

 There is a methodology of the mind that speaks to the silence of the heart,
as if the understanding of the mysteries- lie in the very things that drive us apart.
I want to go back in time- begin again from the moments leading up to the start
when your fears replaced your tears as our world unraveled then split then frayed, 
I would have stayed- I wanted to say,
I would have stayed- I should have prayed. I want to take back the seconds until
I have enough to fill the entirety of a single day, I want to recapture that 
last laugh, like the instant I knew it was slipping away through my fingers, down,
down into the sands as I recognized that my theory had failed to address
the empirical demands that comes from the science of loneliness. 

 If I could hypothesize how it felt as I watched you fading like mist into my past,
 the feelings would rival what I knew almost for certain that love could outlast. 
It cannot be quantified like a mathematical algorithm in order to recast
scenarios that played out in my head without answers, without contrast
 like an old daguerreotype photograph rusting away along the edge
the image blurring into streaks like tear tracts, as if the clarity of our pledge 
fails to escape the traps that I set to capture the framework of our memories
and all is gone for the lack of effort like unspoken words, requested on my knees.
Now just another page from the books I would have written in order to compress
my own fruitless desires down into the annals of the science of loneliness.

I want to know that there are facts to support this, that I have more than just some data 
from trials to reminisce, and that there are ways to record the details of each touch, each trace,
of each embrace, of each kiss- but what is worse, is that everything about you is what I really miss. I must go to the conclusion, I guess, as I beat myself up once again, in order to confess-
after all of these revelations- I know nothing of love nor the science of loneliness.

There must be you

There must be some way to forget-
you.
Some method to remind that I am behind
on believing that I should mind that I
should've, no would've or at very least
could've forgotten that I still miss you.

The problem is that everything makes
me think
of the way you smile with subtle style
without too much guile that makes me
want to go a mile out of my way- I know
it's just denial, like I am on trial trying
to forget you.

Sometimes I think I shall stop feeling blue
like the difference between mist and dew
as if our time together was not the glue
that kept us intact otherwise I'd be
forced to construe that there was more than
just love that drove me to distraction about
you.