Pavement

Trickling, running and streaming down my face,

staring at a big blank sky

dropping its soul

piece and drop by piece and drop,

the gentle patter

of mass abandon.

The heavens are a palette of dirty dark hues

and their dumbing down

the street lights,

bright sentries posted and stationed,

single file.

Slick sidewalks,

sleek pavement highways

littered with feet and leaves,

And dotted in cussing and puddles.

Blue, too.

The winter blues are setting in,

faster faster

from baby blue to indigo,

dark days and darker hues,

each is a new blue.

Snow is around the corner,

light and bright,

waiting to fall in time

with the rise of your chest.

Each sigh is a rain drop

sliding down the panes,

playing tricks on everybody

Going this way and that-a-way.

Azure, cerulean and cornflower blue,

each one is something new,

sticking to my skin,

sinking in and dyeing me, too.

Dizzy spin

It’s really hard

to turn away from eyes

that dizzy me up,

and spin me around

as much as you please.

I’m throwing my words at you,

little daggers to chip the walls

so thick and so high around you.

You’re not cold

just silent,

handing out little clues

with big questions,

and no answers.

Alluding to every mystery but yourself,

you float in between familiar and stranger,

never staying in one skin for too long.

Prickly eyes don’t match soft words,

but that’s what you’re giving me.

Another skin, juxtaposition,

your all steel words and gentle eyes,

I can’t help but spin.

Gimme some Soul

Are souls bagged and boxed,

compartmentalizing and sorting

our feelings, our heart-of-hearts,

our essences?

Or is a soul more like an experiment,

pressed and sealed between panes of

glass in everlasting transparency?

Or perhaps a soul more resembles

cling-film, fluttering in every which way,

sticking to nothing but everything.

Can they be ripped and torn, or even

sewn back together?

What about seen, or touched?

Maybe we’re just too busy to see,

or a soul is only in one spot just long enough

to be forgotten.

Maybe, a soul is the knowledge

that we don’t have one,

but we still believe.