what if?
two words
on the tongue
unfulfilled aspirations
full of hope
                full of fear
for two words…

                why not?

it’s raining out there

beyond the window pane




droplets hit the puddles and bounce

all willy-nilly

                   raindrops don’t care about your plans

i sit


longing to run my bare feet through the puddles

splashing across the concrete and grass

mud sliding between my toes

instead of sitting here

wondering what it feels like

to be a raindrop

seconds before I die

When I was young –

the tender age of eight

                    or so –

there were concrete floors

light bulbs that dangled

by the wire from our ceiling

a shower in the basement

that drained into the backyard

and the old oven –

                    the one my mom used to threaten suicide with –

you remember…

with broken knobs, a cracked window,

                    and us

I drove by the old place

last time I was up that way

they painted the outside

but the window is still cracked

or maybe it’s a different…


an attempt at normal

       it’s hard to say

because memories

like these

they like to hide themselves away

I am a man-child
35 years old –
still not sure what I want
to be

when I

I run through the streets
arms flailing wildly
against the hot summer’s day
hands slapping the humidity
away like tears

…and I scream out:

“I’ve got a story in me!”

I’ve got anger…

I’ve got something more
than even I will ever know.

I’ve got something REAL.

I stuff it
deep inside my left front pocket
– the one where I put the important things –
and I check it
every so often
just to make sure it’s still there

I turn West
over the cracked lines of a city
where history breathes
through the vents
and rises
around itself until…

it dissipates

and we all stand silent –
everyone –

staring into the sun

– big, round, and yellow –

and it smiles down,
pats us on the head
and whispers:

“None of this matters…