Monthly Archives: December 2013

The Poet

He seems

made of steel.

His exoskeleton –

bravado solidified,

mortar machismo –

reflects the light

flawlessly, fluidly,

when viewed

from a distance.

But close the gap,

inch closer,

and spidery cracks

from years

of deflecting

imaginary arrows

betray themselves.

And with each word



the page,

he allows

another piece of armor

to fall away,


unblemished (raw) skin.

He is made of flesh

after all.


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The Paper Year

One is not enough.
That lonely digit —
a mere scratch of ink
or lead —
cannot possibly
shoulder the weight
it carries.
Not with
the constant pull
of gravity.

Three hundred sixty-five
sounds better.
A veritable army.
And yet,
hardly more
than a blip
on life’s radar.

Eight thousand seven hundred sixty.
Now there’s the uprising,
the revolution,
the deafening roar
I’m looking for.

And yet.

One deep breath.
One leap.
One year.

one is enough
after all.

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