A Reminder:

a string tied purposefully

around your finger

to remind you to forget

A Poet:

I used to think I was a poet
until I realized that the slight
ringing in my ears was not
the echoing of a tortured soul
locked away deep inside myself
but the sound of lights
humming in a quiet room

A Whim:

but I
a whim
dream
of being taken seriously

Existence:

existence
should
overwhelm
us

Awakening:

a line
disconnected
turning on itself
twisting and folding
shifting into sentences
becoming more poignant
than it could have ever become
on its own
shaped by destiny
fueled by [naive] hope

unaware
as the pages blur together
of the man and the pen
scribbling hurriedly
before the cover
closes
and the book is stuffed into
a jacket pocket
for later

Icarus:

I am no Icarus

I ran out
of air to breath
up here
long before
I could be burned
by the sun

A Fleeting Thought:

flitting in
like morning light
through cracks
in blinds
closed loosely
in anticipation
of the dawn

your smile
devastates
my pretense

I may give airs
of solitude
and shuttered
windows
avoiding
meaningful
eye contact
like a recluse

but
I no more
want to be
left alone
than to sleep
through the morn

these
superficial rituals
performed
for show
and in a vain
attempt
to protect myself
from waking
before
sunrise

yet
though
still dazed
by sleep
I am quite
convinced
by
the way
your light
dances
across these walls
that you are
nothing more
than a car
slowly passing
by
in the dead of night