urban farmhouse at twilight


there is the subtlest of breezes from full-flung windows where the world
comes in, dragging its day-end noises: settling birds, slowing traffic.
It smells still of dark coffee & morning-baked bread. someone
coughs. the last sighs of light reflect against glass and chrome;
shadows pool between the cobbles. a scrape of chairs as this place
slowly empties, we the dregs of what had been an over-full cup.
my wine is sweeter with every

fluorescent heartbeat,
a new green pulses lamplit;
last lip-stained-glass kiss.

shut door when done

remember when it was more than this.

remember the hiss of snow on the lake,
the feel of fire in its place.

remember the forgetting.

remember what truth was, its high-flung pain.

remember the next night.

remember the taste of never,
the perfection of a kiss in the sun.

remember the last time you felt safe.

remember that you are more than (t)his.

remember the dregs and the puddles.

remember these words: concave, blue, gravel, catatonic.

remember the walk barefoot, cobbled in rain.

remember the screams.

remember the hand that picked you back up.

remember why.

remember how it ended, and where it began.

remember that which it is needful to remember,
the song you never meant to hear.

remember that dreams, too, are sometimes prophetic.

capture no.1


(like a)

tin-can shot


both wide-eyed barrels
staring down

wanderlusted glances
through smoke-crusted tomorrownights in

some back-bay bar where

backup guitarist
looks a little like you

and i’m a little
in love

with possibilities, running too
many yellows

before the needle
goes to zero.