Category: Linkage

The Endless

Time has no purpose but to mark the steps

To show the forward motion

To give context to the journey

To this familiar nowhere called Us.


Maybe the feet know to go

Where your footsteps have left their warmth.

Maybe the center of my gravity

Is in the core of Was-just-here.


Maybe the heart is just too used

To being left behind

In the Almost.


In the ocean of Where-you-were,

The limestone cliffs of What-we-could-have-been

Shine like a beacon for my storm-tossed soul.

The crashing waves become hands upon my cradle

Drawing on this sleep,

Never ending this dream.


Our “here” just keeps on drifting beyond reach.

We never are and can never be, only



Remains to move me.




The Comeback

Sometimes I think I’ve gone too far

away from you

That I’m back where I started–

Right behind you.

If only your memory were a corpse

Buried in the ground,

And I never had a shovel

Or pick

Or spoon

Or hands-

Then there would be no nights like this.


But you’re a seed,

That turned into a tree

And you know how I just can’t

Resist the shade.

And you bore fruit

And I ate them all

And spat out the pits.


Maybe if I just kept still–


Maybe if I destroyed you–


Maybe if you just stopped mattering

And I stopped muttering

We start happening

And I stop hoping.


Then I’d see that the seed

Was a weed

And the fruits were all spiney.


That would be as far

Enough to get past you

So you can be where you need to–

Behind me.

Morning After


I pick your clothes
As I sift through the ruble
On the floor
Separating yours from mine
Noting the spot
On the carpet
Tainted wine.
The stench of cigarettes
Invade my mind
With that gaze you made
That beckoned me
The bump and brush
That signalled the beginning
Of all these on the floor
In your bed
In my head
I wish my ease had not misled
You to think
That I would dread
To wake up next to you
Every awkward hour
From today.
I fold your clothes
And stack them neat
While you dream an else
In your deep sleep
I put on mine
Without a peep
And take my leave.
Something else is beginning
With each step I’m taking
This possibility I’m holding
Of us
Of you
And seeing the magnitude
of my pining,
Stacked at the foot of your bed.
I wish you’d see
That I could be
The one you’re dreaming of



short, swift

coming, laughing, crying, going

five lines for five weeks.


Weekend Wife

Not the one you were hoping for,
I’m afraid this might be the end of it.
As the credits rolled on the movie
We were supposed to be watching
Together, I awake slowly
From falling asleep in your arms,
Where I felt so at home
When there was nobody there
And all the lights were off
And the rhythm of your moaning
Was all I could hear
As I keep myself from gagging
From the scent of another man
On your crotch, I try to lap up
Every last drop of love that he missed
Or left behind.
You have a way of pulling yourself back
Into my picture
After a week’s worth of absence.
I must teach myself that you are only mine when it is
When your life and mine
Suffer a plateau.
When all the chores are through
And it is too much of an effort to
Go outside. We will make my couch
Our home. And pretend that this
Is the only life we’ve had all along.
No sense covering your tracks
Or making excuses. I forgive you,
Whether I feign getting hurt by the
Prospect of your infidelity. I hope
You realize when I ask you to give me
Your penis I meant your heart.
If only you could take it out, you say.
It doesn’t matter.
I have resigned to the fact that you would
Never be mine.

Except on Sundays.


Let’s you and I
Talk, before we
Begin, before we
Near the distant falling apart.
Yes, I know you know you
Know yourself, as I.
So let’s not fool ourselves
Into thinking that time
Displaced in this place
In time is going
To change change
Since it’s an entity unknown
In our consistence.

Except expectations
About our changes to ever
Coincide inside
This globe we find ourselves in,
I have everything:

As do you as due you.

Becomes our assurance
That a collision would be evitable.

Yet, we are in this globe
By circumstance.
By a string of whimsy,
And whiskey
You whisked me,
Got frisky,
Then risky,
Your eyes have teased me.
And we revolve in this magnetic field.


So alike are we.

So we cannot be.


To please you
My not quite lover,
I twist and bend
Until this nothing
That binds me to you
Becomes something
Familiar to us both
— that same nothing
that is held between
our clasping hands,
the lull between
the beats of the song
you sang for me.
You swore to me
the air between
our promises,
the gasps that link
our tears.
That same nothing–
Familiar to us both–
Becomes something
That binds me to you.
Til then, this nothing,
I twist and bend,
My not quite lover,
To please you.

On Confessions

The Kiss of Death

Is not so fatal

If the person you are kissing

Is invincible.


all i really wanted to do was hold his hand

all i really wanted to do was hold his hand

Start Here

Since September of last year, (wow, it’s LAST year) I’ve been hanging out with a guy that I met online 2-3 years ago.

I was surprised to discover that he was working here. And when I saw him in Facilities, I couldn’t bring myself to approach him because I had this huge crush on him before. And I felt really awkward and self-conscious.

So after a few weeks, I found out that he was interested with me after all. And we started hanging out, smoking, or getting starbucks. At first we always went in a group. And we almost never spoke directly to each other. Then eventually, we’d go just the two of us.

I always made a conscious effort not to be affectionate with him, especially after I heard he was in a relationship. This is herculean for me, knowing how touchy I am. And you know how it is when you’re consciously trying to avoid something, every sense, every iota of feeling associated to it becomes intensified.

I remember our first conversation– well it was more of a non-conversation because we had no words. He wouldn’t even look at me. I told him, you don’t enjoy chatting much do you? He just smiled.

Eventually,we started talking about random work-related things, but always at least a three feet apart.

As the days went by, I grew comfortable enough to brush against his arm when we’re walking. Touch his hair. Look into his eyes. Pat his back. Take a picture together. I remember one time I even put my head on his shoulder.

impending doom

impending doom

 But to hold his hand–

I think will be disastrous for me. Why am I so addicted with keeping myself just before the things that I absolutely want? Some of his team mates have been encouraging me to pursue him despite his current relationship. But I don’t want to be that guy.

I fancy him so, in a way that I feel intense infatuation. But consciously, short of love. I know that if I give in that I will only be counting the days until he is lost forever.

I think of him as a hovering fantasy. My precious horseman of the apocalypse. The contents of my Christmas stocking.

Forever a mystery.