The Cliff (for a friend)

Of all the times we danced near the edge,
I never thought we'd end up here.

Funny how we're holding hands,
but we're not thinking about how this feels,
only how we'll keep from falling.

I can tell you looked down,
but please don't let go.

Hold on to my hand,
and I'll pray I'm strong enough
to hold you up.

Love Errant

This could be our fairy tale--
with you my prince, and I your princess,
But our kingdoms sit
on either side
of these mountains,
with only these tunnels,
and the film running between them and
music: the rails, connecting the two of us,
and God, the train that carries us forward.

If only I could see through
these dim windows,
to see what you think of me from
that platform,
if you think of me at all.

Caught

You said my name first,
but like so many times before,
my name was someone else's name,
my skin, someone else's skin,
my eyes, certainly my eyes,
belonged to someone else.

You said my name again,
and here I noticed my failure
to move your name from my brain,
yes, my brain to my mouth, and then my lips.

Perhaps you said my name a third time,
and I could only call you--well--you,
but it wasn't you then either.

Even now I can't help but imagine
it was you,
and it was me,
and it was my hand on your shoulder,
and it was we who walked out of the room
together.

The Undelivered Love Poem

You probably never knew that I fell for you,
or that you cost me that A in geometry,
or that a touch from your unconscious hand
could melt all the snow outside.

Before my path went near,
and yours
far.
Before I knew your secret.

This is the love serenade,
caught in the throat.
This is the bouquet
left standing behind the counter.
This is the last petal:
the one that says:
He loves me not.

An Appointment with a New Patient

I'm usually the last person people want to see. Granted, I'm not pleasant to look at. My pale skin would blind most people in direct sunlight. Honestly, I don't wear a lot of black to scare people, but to protect their eyes. It's pretty uncomfortable on hot days and nights, especially in summer when people are dying of heatstroke. I find it more bearable in winter, to keep out the cold. After all, I'm not a very warm person to begin with.

I wouldn't say most people like me, though I've had my share of stalkers. I guess I understand. I'm not the most pleasant person. I kill a room when I enter it. Most children cry when they see me, but the elderly seem to like me well enough. They smile at me like I'm a familiar friend. Sometimes we talk for hours, sometimes they have nothing to say, but the old always take my hand.

It's hard to get a date when you're like me. My hands are ice cold, so no girl wants to hold them. I have a morbid sense of humor that girls don't appreciate. Goth girls seem to like it, but it's been my experience that they prefer to talk about me behind my back than see me face to face. At least we both tend to like dark, cozy restaurants.

I may show up unannounced, but at least I'm a gentleman. No matter who the person is, I don't discriminate.  I think I'm a basically good person, though you might disagree.

Thanks for listening to me, Doctor. I think you're a great therapist. Unfortunately, I have to admit that I came here to this appointment, for more than one reason. You see, today is your deathday, and it's time to take you. I promise this scythe may come as a shock, but it won't hurt you. It will kill you, but it won't hurt you.

Changling

You left as a man,
and returned as a beast.
Sometimes your fur's soft;
sometimes your claws come out.
I don't recognize your pupils,
as they've transformed from orbs
to slits.


You left your soul in the desert,
and brought back a dead man.
He does not see,
but he consumes.
He does not hear,
but he spits out acid.
He does not feel,
except for a bloody, explosive rage.

I can't rely on my mine-detector,
and I fear losing limbs.
So save me the trouble of asking,
and tell me:
Are you back?

Preservation

Oh to be a myriad of brush strokes,
A spectrum of color!
Oh to be the sparkle in her eye,
the blush upon her lips,
the corner of her smile.
I would be forever in love,
never hurt, always hugged by a golden frame,
surrounded by a cloudless sky,
with fresh grass blades tickling my feet.

But ah, never to be painted,
trapped with only a sight of my lover,
never any closer to him than the day he painted me,
never hugged by his arms,
never spoken to by his lips,
never kissed.