a letter from ted

here, halloween comes 'round every night
i feel as though i massacre myself
in a plight
not fit for bees
hornets nests
do their best
to sting the misery out of me
but alas
i know why plath baked her head
stuffed in the oven
a yeasty loaf of bread
her words seeped out
like pinpricks
each letter an analogy
of what she really wanted to say to me
turn up the heat
to 350 degrees
she never had writer's block
maybe if she did
the gas would be off

paper trails

i am astonished at times
by beautiful days
that fold into one another
like small origami shapes
slowly flattening out internal organs
no breath will ever be strong enough
to inflate those days back to fullness
they drop to the bottom of the barrel
just out of my heart's reach
those are the ones i remember

bokeh

if she knew i would fit her
like a glove
she might turn away
from that blinding sunshine
knowing i would keep her warm

red ribbon

her clavicle feels good underneath my heartache
entrenched in some sort of oily war
shreds of decency fall off fingertips
sliding across my cheeks
a winter wonderland and skaters collide
you're in for the ride of your life
down the slippery slope
all those red herrings could not deter you
from those nasty skid marks
and all that other mumbo jumbo
your mother warned you about
i don't have a thick enough coat
to keep out the knocking coldness
holes in shoes
tell secrets no child should know
my grandfather's whiskers shout
into my face
and poke at my childhood without reckoning
i don't give a shit about his riding lawnmower anymore
or racing my daddy up the hill
he won
he always did
any honorable man would let his child
run through the blue tape
and fall down in the grass laughing with delight
but not mine
he flew airplanes while we ate tuna from a can
his truck never waited
i walked across thin ice
hand in hand with my mother and her bruised face
black snow boots really told that story well
at eighteen i told my dad to go to hell
another man stepped up to the plate
he's my father now
since i was nine
a real man
not a moment too late in time
i took his name just like my mother
her face no longer fruit
she makes room for more things in her heart
and her cellar doors shut out the cold
now i know if i bend down and tie my shoe
i will once again think of you and all those days
that never added up to anything

prelude to a novel or something like it

The boy gazed at himself in the mirror and thought for a moment he was in love with his own reflection. That made him laugh. He wasn't really, he was actually a little self conscious about his goofy smile. Charisma is what drew people to him. His charm was undeniable yet there was always a hint of sadness underneath his calm exterior. His aloofness mixed with a little bit of self loathing came across as quirky which made people like him. He wasn't really a boy, age-wise but he seemed more boyish than manly so we'll go with that. His blond hair was disheveled and his red button down shirt had a tiny stain on the collar where he had nicked himself while shaving. Red dot on red fabric, only he would notice that. While inspecting the spot of blood he pondered his feelings and had a fleeting thought about being capable of taking his own life. It was a mighty thing to have that control and be able to choose if he were to live or die. It made him feel powerful and magnificent.  He could pick the time and the place and the method of the termination. The only question that remained in his hesitation was whether or not he could carry out the final chapter to his life without shedding a tear. He wanted to be a man about the whole situation but lately it seemed as if he were merely a small boy in an overgrown body. It was something that he was never comfortable with. He looked down and mumbled something to himself about the beautiful pair of shoes that he had so carefully picked out for his meeting with Lucien. They were brown Berluti Rapiécés Reprisés with faint scuff marks on the tips of the toes. The soles were coal black and made a faint squeaking noise when he walked down the hall of the hospital. He relished in the fact that those shoes were the very things carrying him to the place where he would finally be able to tell his secret. The thing that had been tormenting him for over  twenty years now, the thing that on this day would spill out of his mouth in a messy pool of words. Finally he would be free. Free of the cage which had bound him so tightly that he often wanted to pluck his own eyes out for fear of seeing any more terrifying visions of blood, splattered on thick, hot asphalt and billowy trails of smoke rising from charred and twisted metal. Lucien did not know anything about that day, when the air was still and the temperature just a bit cooler than it should have been. That day when the road twisted irrationally and two metal boxes touched, not in a tender kiss but rather in a devastating embrace that halted time, if only for a moment. That moment which hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity until all the screeching tires and shattering glass and wrenching metal came to a stop in an unrecognizable heap in the middle of the black pavement snaking between two red mountains. Then came the eerie silence, while onlookers tried to grasp at what had just occurred. Slowly, the sleep from the boy’s eyes gave way to a gentle trail of liquid salt running down his cheeks mixed with a hint of blood and broken teeth. The shattered bones would tell the story of this day long after they had knitted back together. The boy had his own story to tell and today was the day he would do it.

Lucien didn’t look well and the boy knew it was only a matter of days until the old man would be gone. Soon the cancer, that incurable blackness that everyone fears will have eaten away any life remaining in his fragile body. How powerful, those tiny cells that turn into monstrous flesh eating giants, with gnashing teeth and insatiable appetites. Only now, does the boy feel safe unleashing his secret to Lucien. The boy tried to enter the cold room as quietly as he could, gliding though the doorway on a tempo of soft squeaks. Lucien opened his eyes in the darkness and peered around slowly until his gaze rested upon the blond head of the boy. "Nice shoes," he said as he looked down at the source of the noise that had awakened him. The boy merely smiled in that awkward way and nodded, then he went over and sat on the edge of the sterile bed. He hated the smell of hospitals, the coldness, the darkness, everything was so mechanical, so non-fleshy. He remembered it well. He gently took Lucien's frail hand, caressing the thin paper-like skin and whispered, "I have something to tell you". It was time.

flotsam

i do not fear
the deepest sea
the best fish swim there
your life does not frighten me
sailor's knots
do not know thee
your knees in the clouds
bruised to the core
apple seeds
and fallen leaves
i cast a line
into the ocean once more
for a while i rest
in your hot sand
wallowing in words
up to my chest
you don't follow time
or any course set to sail
i catch a ride
on a sea monkeys' tail
monsters of the deep
tell the tale
of a wishing well
full of shiny pennies
and lost wishes
a man's heart
thrown in for his misses
cradles are robbed
and hobgoblins
bob for apples
unaware of the machete
above their heads
fists dance off my face
in blacks and reds
fourteen years of wedded iron
cast in steel
a ring around your neck
then freedom rang
with a clank of my fallen chain
across your christmas deck

windows and mirrors

look at me
don't look past me
maybe if you look hard enough you will see me
look into me
don't look through me
maybe if you look deep enough you will see yourself