Slow Smoke

smoke curls
stalks the ring of your finger
while we’re seated in the slow burn
of a brown cowled conversation.
a grey screen against us all
and each lonely orange glow.

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Sun Through a Window

The winter sun through a window
paints the room warm
I’ve cut the cold in parts
and it means more
felt between the panes and the past

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Tired Highway

something happens in a week across the country
75 miles an hour and the windows up
city after city
the illusion of sleep, in the same hotel bed
that somehow stretched itself from coast to coast
rest stop routines
dark circle eyes bent on a horizon we’re only chasing
that old dream of on the road
feels a little less, a little distant each day
like it only ever was a dream
like the day for hounding down the highway and meeting strangers
was as passing as every burnt out barn along the road
maybe its the midwest
maybe all these years have burned my fortune
maybe I’m just fucking tired

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View of a Room

The shelf with the hourglass
where the sands ran some months ago.
A small self portrait where life stood still.
In the room where I sleep, and suspense hangs overhead.
A cloud below the roof, and a story of lives I live in bed.

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Wrinkled War

Old anxieties are worn,
like denim aged and faded.
We cross our fingers
to the bottom of our pockets
in hopes our wrinkled war subsides.
We’re at a loss, all roots are jaded.

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Portrait No. 1

The words “what if” have crept across my spine in every early morning, and every last goodbye.

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Little Life, Little Hell

Just this once, for the rest of your life.
You start and stop and start again.
Greet the world at 21
the girl, the job, the starry sights.
Before you know, you’re 25,
you blinked it by.
You sleep tonight, just like them,
and then, again, again you’re 21.
Forget the end.
Forget the wife.
You lived it then, you will til when.
It’s coming back, it comes around,
you’re 25, it’s over now.
Younger days are bound to bend,
this sleepless cycle just pretends.
You cannot die, you cannot end,
young until you’re young again.
Never born but never dead.

I had a thought one day about someone who constantly lived a loop of a short period of their life. Completely inconsequentially, over and over and over forever.

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