Pavement

She had been in a rush all day
but she paused for a second
on the cool, smooth, gray of the sidewalk.
There were no flowers to smell in the city.

No friend she ever had would recall
this small act of humanism, this epiphany
that would slow the fall for just one second
on the cool, smooth, gray of the sidewalk.

After all, there where no flowers to smell in the city
Nothing to do, if you paused for just one second
So Naturally there was nothing to pity in the fact
that something was about to fall.

50 stories up, a painter too felt the epiphany
so he paused for just one second
Letting his feet forget the many hardship they’ve endured.
His friends couldn’t recall him ever acting so odd.

50 stories below, the cool, smooth, gray, of the sidewalk
Looked as if a blank paper with yellow lines.
It enjoyed the idle talk of business pedestrians about how
There were no flowers to smell in the city.

50 different stories, filled with people
none of whom could recall
it ever raining red paint before.
Something must have gone wrong.

The black and white newspapers the next day
capture only a monochrome woman lying face down
on the cool, smooth, gray of the sidewalk.
Why she had left work, her secretary couldn’t recall.

There were no flowers to smell in the city,
Nothing but leaves and cold air.
The weight of 50 stories having painted her tale
on the cool, smooth, gray of the sidewalk.

Read Full Post »

The Land of Awake

I know you have a life to save
a meaning to spread, a name to make
but you never gave me a chance
to give you what you tried take
with clawing hands, from the world
outside this bed, the land of awake.

For 8 hours you were my girl,
who would implore, for heavens sake,
to explore the world between.
The sun rose, and in its wake
the dreams you want to realize
revealed our house as fake.

Thus you dawn your red cape, such size
to drown the land of awake,
to baptize those sleepy wanderers
and by the name of God to take
away the illusions that their fathers gave,
that my father gave.

But such is your mistake
to deny the dreams of others,
because your dreams anchor you
to the land of awake.

Read Full Post »

My Homeland: The Homeland of the Homeless

Green fields extend like curiosity
Rolling like infinity
To only be interupted by a single tree
Whose knotted limbs hold its fruit
as high as knowledge
Out of the reach of you and me.

Winter hits the ground like publicity
Falling with equality
at the base of the living tree
In the horizon the hills rise
as close to the sky as dreams
Too lofty for you or me.

When the leaves are as red as fidelity
To match the sky’s sobriety
and the fruit falls from the forbidden tree
whose knotted limbs now hold the emptiness
of a dead man’s eyes –
Its treasures given to you and me.

A summer night is blank with obscurity
Consumed by freedom and purity
Nothing but a black hole and the tree
Who shadowless stands
In the starless night
Too dark for you and me.

Read Full Post »

There can be no disorder here

“Leave it as is” She said,
“There can be no disorder here”
As if the past had fled
As soon as the present appeared.
Despite the chaos near
and the confusion between us
I had nothing but trust.
There could be no disorder here.
Outside stormed the winter
for the entirety of the year.
Quietly she whispered
“There can be no disorder here.”
When the sun hides my fear
Under the realization of this
There can be no disorder here
So I leave it as is.

Read Full Post »