To the One Who Writes About the Pretty Girl

August 16, 2011 § 2 Comments

Do you write better
when you are fixated upon longing,
or loss?
Is it easier for you to imagine,
or remember?
Which one aches like an open sea,
and which
like an empty home at Christmas time?

Will you talk again at length
of the worlds, more lonely yet
more beautiful,
that you swim away to when you close your eyes?
Does she look the same as she did
the night you yelled at each other
at the back of that cab–
the one that smelled like canned lemon,
like all relationships do
as they near their end?
Or does she transform in every dream,
her hair taking a life of its own
and surrounding you like a forest
of soft brown vines?

Is it more difficult to say this word, pregnant,
bursting with all the hope in the world
that you have to your name,
or this word, retired
sounding a little bit like pain?

I guess all I really want to know is,
do you love from a distance, or do you
risk breaking
another one of your hearts?


Red Orange

August 2, 2011 § Leave a comment

I do not know the word for the way
I feel about you,
but you are all I can think about
in a sleepy half-empty cabin
30,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean,
in the quiet jurisdiction
of the most beautiful
sunset in the world.

Where Am I?

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