My Surrogate Thanksgiving

I enjoy the taste
Of a turkey pot pie
Not a mama-home-cooked
But the cheapest you can buy
I like radiation gravy
Peas and soft chopped carrots
The crust must
Be crispy
Burnt
So not
Soggy
The potatoes
Don’t want plenty
I’ll take processed
Turkey
Thank you.

When we squint, our wrinkles go away

You and me
We’re flannel sheets
We’re apple chancery font
We’re a dreary cloudy beach
We get better with time
We’re fancy with lines
We get by

"It's all about the spacing"

I looked outside
Saw a star
Reminded me
How far away you are

But kiss me out of desire, baby, not consolation

So, maybe we didn’t dot all our t’s, but we’ve sure as hell got our i’s crossed.
and although the vision’s blurry
it’s getting easier to see with
the blindfolds tossed
all the ideas, the idiosyncrasies
chalked out on black construction paper,
mapped out like pros and cons.
Decide which horse your willing to put all your money on
‘cause she’s bound to barrel away
at speeds even you can’t catch;
and after that chasm cleaves
it doesn’t matter how many mannerisms
you loved.

I know you know me well
and no, you don’t owe me a thing.
I will let you walk away or stay 
but please, really realize
what walking away
may bring.

Forever Forlorn

The moon was half last night
clouds covering
to create a lemon slice table
not quite yellow
more a fair-skinned
Irish child

Like that child
this half-moon smiled
and although it was cheesing,
all gums revealed,
I saw right through
the lunar shroud
of clouds.

I saw an empty face:
the sullen craters
shaping eyes
sunken deep
into its
mind
the
moon
was weeping
for a cloud
to embrace it instead
of erase and
change it.

Songwriters are my poetic muses.

the atlantic was born today and i'll tell you how:
the clouds above opened up and let it out.

i was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere
when the water filled every hole.
and thousands upon thousands made an ocean,
making islands where no island should go.
oh no.
those people were overjoyed; they took to their boats.
i thought it less like a lake and more like a moat.

the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flood lands
to your door have been silenced forever more.
the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row
it seems farther than ever before
oh no.
I need you so much closer
i need you so much closer
i need you so much closer
i need you so much closer


-Ben Gibbard of DeathCabForCutie

Sibyl ate escargot

She sells seer shells by the seashore.
These snail skeletons
see subsequent events
before they take place.
Based on visceral senses
emitted from the mystery intestines
left by the mollusks
that have vacated
their long-term lodging.

My, what a festive respirator.

Yes, I feel the wreath
It chokes my vocal chords
my breathing patterns
become crooked
and sputter towards
breakdown.

How I am to breath
this holiday atmosphere
when the heart of it isn't even here?

Bound

Traveling north then
west on the rails
crawling along
mostly moping
like snails moving across
conglomerate rocks.
The scenery slows
escaping sideview
veins of the bridges
broken bare trees
scattered snow
patches and
grey sullen sky
backdrop.
Only Upstate New York
just tilted over
the brink of winter
claims this
disastrous canvas.
A catastrophe so dull
it could only be caught
by a rough
sketch in pencil
no mistakes erased
all marks stay in
place
because the allurement lies in
its imperfection in landscape.

a light verse

chap of stick
laps my lips
with a sappy kiss

bleh

tears brim
come down to
cleanse the skin
on my cheeks
but it's not the kind of clean
i need
i need a cleansing
deeper in.

I'm tired
worn
somewhat scathed
can we take a break
from this
charade
?

to such a great extent

So you say
distance far
So I say
not plane, only car
So you say
let’s just wait
So I say
it’ll be too late
So you say
where’s your patience?
So I say
it only makes sense
to me,
to be together
we should try
make it better.
So you say,
I’m not ready
So I say
because it’s steady?
where’s your confidence?
So you say
you made this mess
I trusted until you
destructed my heart
So I say
fine, apart
So let’s leave
So let’s go
So we’ll move on
and save our “so”s
for tomorrow.

red-hot coal feels cooler

…we’d rather be
out flapping snow
angels into the
light layer
of powder snow
like devils cooling
off our bodies
steam rising
from our feverish
pores
chilling our
wits
cleansing our souls
from what the radiator
emits
zephyr, gust through please
take the heat that
moves me
I’d rather be the winter
I’d rather be outdoors

with you

I walked the steps (took the stairwell to soak in the anticipation)
& found far within - a courage to lead your hand into mine
around the corner (on the roof, of course). I wanted to hide
with you
in a position appropriate to our chilled appendages.
Turns out it was quite conducive to the discussion, as well.
I hid my eyes while plotting possible ways to catch your glance.
At each chance, I cowered and kissed your knees instead.
At this moment, I realized I wanted to sneak up stairwells
& sit on rooftops in this exact position every night
with you.
We were caught by a flashlight & fled the scene with calm steps
but you didn't flee me and my heart phewed with relief.
Next, we picked a place perfect for tossing thoughts;
my mind's refuge arena- that I've only shared
with you.
From the time we entered my cubicle to the second I am
writing right now, I knew this smile would persevere.
My smile wishes to only exist in a world
with you.

No más pots

Three hundred and fifty
every two weeks from each.
Three hundred and fifty on top
as a security deposit.
A summer crowded
in need of a plumber.
No place to park.
No space to even fart
without crushing the nostrils
of our front-door neighbors.
But hey, we sustained it
and we were late everyday
we laughed real hard
“On the way to Cape May”.
So why do you have to ruin it
by doing it.
I didn’t steal your pots
so why’d you steal my security deposit.

Things you wouldn’t necessarily tell someone unless someone said to you “Hey, tell me something you wouldn’t necessarily tell someone unless they

asked you to tell something you wouldn’t necessarily tell.”


I Febreeze my favorite jeans
when they reek of weed
because I’d rather have the
artificial scent
then send them to
the Laundermat.
They wear much better
when they're worn.

And while I touch this topic,
the comfiness of clothes,
I’d also like to expose
the fact that my shoes
appear altogether gross
and I know
that people stare at
the paint speckles and holes
but I’d like to vindicate
their state of existence:
I like them because of
their social resistance.