sailing in

auckland, new zealand

crush

she woke up, reaching out for him

feeling the vibrations of his breath.

she yawned, paused–

rolled out of bed

slowly, methodically

as to not disturb him.

reaching for her red shawl,

a gift from henry,

she flashed back nearly a decade

ago– the brief affair.

as she threw it across her shoulders

she was swept away to that

evening, nine years ago, standing

on the dock, wet cheeks

and pitted stomach

watching the boat drift

further and further

until it was but a speck–

a distant memory of one

great love.

measuring one rounded

scoop, she poured the

coffee in. water up to the line.

a simple recipe, if you

could even call it one.

unlike the complex

formula that was 

her life.

she added another heap

of grounds with her

hand, letting them sift

through her

sinewy fingers.

eventually everything slips through, 

she thought.

like me lately.

 flat lining mostly–

with an occasional heartbeat 

just to appease those 

counting on me...or myself 

what is the difference?

at one time there wasn't one

I blended all your hopes 

and expectations with my

forming understanding of the world

her recipe was written.

one part the things you would have

done differently, 

two parts the things you never did,

a dash of fear–

a cup of beaming pride, 

a drop of tears. 

make that two drops, 

the tears 

are really tasty, 

they're in season 

right now

now hit the buttons.

grate

puree

crush

mix

liquefy

serve a taste to 

all you encounter

some will find 

they could drink 

it every day, it is their favorite

Where Has This Been My Entire Life?

for some its saccharine, 

they'd rather not

finish the glass

others will never have a drop

No Thank You, I'm Not Hungry

slumber-ation |ˈsləmbərā sh ən|

noun
1 the action or state of dividing attachments, beliefs, thoughts, or events into distinct, detached elements in ones sleep; processing, incorporating, and releasing in suspended consciousness

last night 

pieces rocked me 

awake 

a verse reeling

so essential

i knew in that moment

that i must commit it to heart:

last i know i'll leave it 

 every day a second day

do you grasp yours?

well hello, dear

homework

surprise!

I sweep the corner up,

turning the page

and find you, 

Matthew Phipps. 

You have caught me

by surprise.
Here I thought

I was alone, reading quietly 

on a rainy afternoon, 

when all along you were 

here, silently passing the 

time in my book. 

Were you hoping I would 

discover you?

Realize our connection and 

marvel at the good fortune

that we both enjoy 

laughter

bubbling in our chests?

Or did you aim to linger 

unnoticed for a few more days–

weeks even–

until finally mustering

up the courage to spring 

up arms outstretched,

mouth wide, heart 

quaking?

happy to see me?

not cool

I'm not walking 

like this 

to look cool–

my pants

just keep falling down.

I saunter side-to-side,

head cocked

hand on crotch. 

But no, I'm not cool.

I'm not trying to

look hip,

aloof or tough.

You see, 

my pants are just too big. 

The inseam is far

too long. 

And although I wear

this belt, they seem 

to slowly creep

further and 

further

down

as if once they reach

my ankles

they will finally

escape

and wander the streets

morph

into some sort of Blue Jean

Blob Creature,

and slink

into a nearby gutter

only to emerge 

20 blocks away,

apply for a job at 

Panda Express

and for a studio

apartment

so that they 

may have some 

steady income

and a place 

to work

on their novellas