Not That Kind of Love Poem (A Reading of “5-7-5”)

5-7-5 (you can find the full poem here) was written with a girl in mind. Last night, something happened. I merged Christina’s audio reading of the poem with a photo of a boy and some background music. The result was something unintentional yet wonderfully and indescribably different. I will never see 5-7-5 the same way again.…

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My friends say I smile for all the wrong reasons. —————————————————– Most of the time, I smile for no reason at all. ————————————————– Maybe I was born with a stupid smirk on my face. ————————————————- But whenever I walk into this cafe. ——————————————— And wander into her perfect world. —————————————– This meaningless smile is a…

Why I Keep Coming Back

THE DOOR HAS never swung shut ever since we left it so, creaking on its hinges, slightly broken.  We kept it leaning out a little, as if we agreed its openness was an invitation we would take up when we felt braver to explore the house of our separate strangeness and particular fears. We had…

Tempest In My Coffee Cup

YOUR COFFEE MUG still sits where you left it, half-empty, atop your favorite porcelain, brim smudged with a curious combination of dried froth and pink lipstick. It’s my little testimony, you know, to a life well led and a union I thought was blessed. I never had the heart to move it even as it perches precariously on…

The Last Brew

TIME FOR one last cup. I still dream of coffee. I still dream of dipping my fingers in eddies of swirling froth and suffer the distant warmth fading with the passing of time. I still jump out of bed with a start, disoriented, roused by a whistling kettle that’s never there, struggling with tangled sheets, hoping to catch a…

5-7-5

I SEE HER for what she is — uneven, a runaway three-line poetry.  Lesser minds have plunged her depths only to break the surface with questioning faces.  All these years they never understood for they saw her differently, an odd number in the realm of pairs and parallelisms. She was often measured, but in their eyes…

Revisited

(Feb. 2006) Do you still remember when we found ourselves lost in this place, blindfolded and numb, yet feeling an old strangeness like when two souls stray on a barren land or near open sea alone? We felt it, the sudden gust of wind that brushed harshly on our skin.  Those unmistakable straws that lay…

My Pretzel Logic

I HAVE NO illusions of immortality.  Superman is stuff of comic books and I don’t want to be the pallbearer to the Lois Lane(s) of my lifetime.  Pain can be endured, grief is unbearable.  I want my children to live a full life.  Let them be my pallbearers for children are supposed to bury their…