The breakup Jon Hillenbrand, February 7, 2009December 30, 2015 The blink of the stop light and the metronome of the wipers compete for control over the beat of my heart as I think of my final moments with her. I’m writing her features on my mind so I don’t forget everything important to me now. I feel her close breath on mine, but she’s gone, gone, gone and her image is a haunting ghost I’ll one day pretend to dismiss with an uncaring glance from the corner of my eye. But for now, I can drink in the loss. The dam I’ve built behind my eyes strains against the pressure of these rising tears. I let it fail. What shall I do once the snow is gone and the Christmas lights have faded to empty glass? How will I get by when the phone rings on that random Tuesday flooring me without her fingers to straighten my hair? Sad to want someone to love but to only see fog between the sky and the water, intermingling in their white veil, like the veil I’ll never lift across her face. The stop light blinks trails across my life which are swept away with each heartbeat. Poetry photography
Poetry True Colors August 18, 2010December 30, 2015 Would that the man on the moon were a lonely fellow, perhaps reclining against the slope of some great crater, he might say that he had more insight under the print of his thumb than all of the Earthling extrospection gleamed from upon the snowy vantage of Everest. Perhaps he… Read More
Poetry My frightening moments in the toy section March 22, 2007December 30, 2015 And with tears and longing, a forgotten child cringes, small hands clutching at the unpurchased toy, the life preserver and the reason and the hated reason, love at first sight, pretending not to notice the fading nearness of mothers skirt, vague fantasies projecting into mysteries. And all the world collapses… Read More
Poetry Smear July 1, 2012December 30, 2015 I wouldn’t change a thing about you. It would change the skipping of the record and labotomize us both…then we could share an IV bottle together, honey nectar for veinous rivers. Path forward, through the universes, chopping with my fingers through the literal weeds. You’re a sunlit green and black… Read More
By the way, this didn’t happen to me. I just thought it out and it sounded dramatic/poetic to me, so I wrote it up and posted it here. But thanks for the comments of consolation.