Annie's House

Annie's house is sparse these days. I walk with strangers through the hollowed remains of her long abandoned hideaway. But her tiny footsteps still creak through the silence. And her dreams still dangle in the air. And I can almost feel her pen on my page; I can almost feel her hand on my face. But Annie doesn't live here any more.

Tumble and Crash

The rain drops fall into life like
we do. I see the rain pour and
all I see is my self and my
brother, years younger, rolling down
a grassy hill. I see the streets
flood and all I see is myself
growing slowly older, drowning
in life. I see droplets as they
bead on my window and all I
see are little pieces of me
being passed on to every
hand that I shake and every
body that I hold. The leaves soak,
the stench of rain reeks and rises
from the cold cement, the day sky
herds away for cover from the
clouds; but all I can see is the
tumble and crash of life - playing
in the mud, diving right in the
waters as they rise. Now! Life! Drenched!

"It's hard to tell the difference between sea and sky. Between voyager and sea. Between reality and the workings of the heart."

Back in the states. Two new ones.

Hatching

The day breaks. Birds announce the morning.
The horizon slowly secrets blue
until the sky begins to gently
shimmer. The frigid air prods away;
"oh, you're fine," it whispers, "the darkness
has fled, surrendered - we've won." But the
sun is nowhere to be found. Morning
teases and flirts, but still struggles to
break through. It waits in the pregnant sky
for the redeeming sun before it
gives itself away. While the birds call
and the frigid air prods and the blue
sky teases, building on each other
as if leading to one climactic
squeal of morning, the truth is that the
sun is patient, working with vigor
and expertise, never once missing,
it intently approaches until
finally the sky drowns with
just enough life. The day breaks.

In This City I Fall Back in Love with You, Poetry

I stare you in the eyes as a counterpart, my darling. The city has lifted me off my feet and flung me soaring to the heavens - the life astounding! Every direction I look, every face I see, Keats and Byron stare back reminding me just what it is to wonder, to tumble and fall into life, to soar endlessly through the ages like ancient songs still familiar to modern ears. I crash into the city and watch as life shakes loose from every crevice and dances through the evening sky. Everything is soaring; Rome only exists amongst the clouds. Here I see every man, past and present, in the eyes of the scattered, chaotic masses and here I see every man of the future in the dust.