On Regret

and the bitch of it is this;
that the situation that you hate so much
this horrible status quo--
you're the one who put it into place

like a self-fulfilling prophesy:
the coup of a spineless king and and his iron queen
destroyed by portents they had already been warned of--
you, too, knew what you had wrought

the scrape of a match on a box
a sharp inhale of breath as it lights your cigarette
but when you don't put it out fast enough
your fingers get burned

regret is hard to live with
and the scars it leaves can't be soothed by cold water
perhaps it is safer
not to acknowledge it at all

If stars were wishes
I'd trade a whole galaxy
Simply to have you

Passage (Of Time)

Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust
All of my dreams
have tarnished to rust.

Inches to inches,
Miles to miles
How far must I travel
to escape these trials?

Hour to hour,
day to day
Contrition does plague me
I can't get away.

Starlight to starlight,
Sunrise to sunset
How can I move on
beyond this regret?

Heartbeat to heartbeat,
breath to breath
This ache I am feeling
may bring on my death.

Autumnal Contemplation

You're sitting on the hood of your car at the cusp of autumn, smoking a cigarette.
     The stars are bright and the sky is dark. Grey smoke spirals lazily around your head as you lean back to admire the sight.

You're sitting on the hood of your car and the breeze bites just a bit more than it did last week. For a moment you wish you had someone to huddle with for warmth.
     Though a jacket might do just as nicely.

You're sitting on the hood of your car and for a moment, you can't remember why you came out here; what reckless longing sent you driving into the wilderness where the sky is wide and the stars outnumber people a million to one.
     Maybe you don't really need a reason.

Line up my sins like bottles on a shelf
The tinkling sound of breaking glass in every little white lie
The worst untruths are the ones you tell yourself

Crush(ed)

You want to say it started tonight
Standing in a brightly-lit gallery
surrounded on all sides by flower-covered animal bones.
You want to claim that your passion for the art
this shared enthusiasm is what began it all...
(It's a lie.)

Still, even if you know it has been going on longer
(Quite a bit longer)--
you know that this is that critical turning point.
The moment when your flight of fancy solidifies,
when it becomes real in your mind and you must face it.

So.
It may not have started tonight.
But it certainly took you until tonight to catch on.
It took a mutual love for wine and paintings,
dinner and religion in a tiny cramped diner,
and round after round of karaoke.

(It also took shot after shot of tequila,
warm shoulders, and wide grins,
but don't get carried away.)

Alcohol is funny that way.
Turns everything golden around the edges,
and smooths away sharp corners.
By the time you've realized the danger
you're too far gone to panic.

would that I could be
deep below the water's surface
or far above the spinning earth
because if I were dancing on the sandy ocean floor
or skipping through the stars
nothing could touch me