Shaped Hour

abstract
distraction
that’s all this
life is
this waking life
can’t concentrate
on the eye’s apple
or the prize
head is buzzing
with indecision
identity, grainy
but I always knew
we were sand
clambering to get
to other
side of
this glass
shaped hour

Line by Line

Sunday affirmations

mosaic-ing
shards
of question marks

into
something meaningful

writing lyrics
on my arms
like
henna misspelled

going outside
then wearing sleeves
to hide
the scars

staring into
Robin Williams’
blue eyes
(those blue eyes)
on the cover
of a tribute
magazine

wondering
what it all means

plotting out the week
dividing time
evaporating
line by line by line

I hear children
laughing
and I go backwards
in time
trying to remember
my first memory of
skinned knees
my first cough
from peer-pressed
cigarette
my first drunk
my first back-seat
broken heart
my first hospitalization

and I know I should stop
and
I know
I
should stop
and slow down
maybe stop
reading so much fiction
and create my own non-

and just breathe
a little deeper
and live
a little fuller

and stop
drowning myself
in
what-would-happen-ifs

restful fabrications

stitching
shapes uncertain

into
something
real, so raw

Advertisement