Poems

People like me wait.People like me let friends drift away.People like me don’t answer her handwritten letter.When it feels like crossing someone else’s line people like me start to say goodnight with our inside voice until people like me stop hearing it at all. People like me get used to the empty space of a…

My February 13 is slipping from inside the stall of a food hall.I serve couples who are touristsat the night’s singles partymen’s eyes feast attractive women wonderaround a hope to engage in connecting lines like poets matching words to couple internal rhymes: their luv is trying on a glove my hain’t is painting a sorrow…

If my fingers were pounding an Olivetti Lettera would the jungle trek of the workdayfeel less like deforestation? If so, would the temporary paralysis above those keys be cracked once I’ve emailed another invoice? If not, could a deeper breath in this brief oasis of thought bring back the warmth lost when the sun sets…