Thursday, September 20, 2012


Is this all we are--love

contagious, always

with fevers passing

in troubled sleep
stretching from beach to beach,
no waves
or land to reach


I would rather be a pillar, a symbol of my own strength
than combined tapestry, love for someone else's art
I am surrogate love, bred with a champion runner's heart
and a bloodline's tracks


love, who were you
to barge down doors

to appease

to please me

to refuse flowers, how can you
turn me away, your attention spans
between video games, movies, or work

you'd rather say--love takes time, and I need
time, to know myself

but you are as shallow as your affinities,
you have nothing

to share--no way to explain
who you are--you are
that which can fill in small cracks

and crevices, like Elmer's glue
but really, you are as porous as

a broken jar, holding dirt
swept from the garage, stored

on a shelf, pretty, waiting
long, for something new.


it lives purely in a woman's heart, this companion
who dies of a porous heart