"A note of thanks" & "I'd rather have no talk"

A note of thanks

The boy with blue eyes came to me

            On summer sunday

With a sky that perfectly matched his irises

            And playfully

Clashed with brambly red hair

            Forest fire

Smoke in the air just like



The first person to tell me that my

            Armpit hair

Was beautiful, it was you

            Boy with blue eyes

And untameable vigor with a

            Bastard child like me

Left behind in the wake of your wild youth

            Who told me

My poems were worth reading

            It was you

Who first turned me on

            To existentialism and kerouac and

Ginsberg ginsberg ginsberg


A sexually liberated hipster

            Who would

Only kiss me in private

            Because your heart

To someone else was committed

            It was you

Who wouldn’t smoke cigarettes

            But let

Tendrils of jazz smoke curl from your lips

            That would twist

Into literary musings and stories of gutters

            And spain


It was the boy with blue eyes

            Who felt

 The same pain as I and

            Told me

That I wasn’t broken for my acrid emotions

            In 40 ounce

Confessionals during foggy-windowed escapades

            On the rims

Of gray industrial billings


            It was you

Who gifted me with your flesh

            Only once

On the day you broke your love pact

            To another

And left the next without goodbye

            But a smear

Of semen on my windshield long since dried

            And only

Wiped away when someone else complained about

            The dirty glass


            It was you

Blue eyes who sidled through my conscience

            Only when

It was most inconvenient with words

            In prose

Expressing a gratitude for me that you never

            Had the nerve

To say to my face


            Blue eyed boy

Former undercover lover

            Whose spell

Was finally broken when I saw you


In the arms of another at some

            Punk show

I high on mushrooms and you on your own



I digress, blue eyed boy

            I will proudly

Wear the mark of our brief trysts into


On my barb-wire wrapped heart

            And I am

Indebted to you for forcing me to start

            Writing my stories

And showing me that we’re all just the universe’s


And that’s okay, blue eyed boy


Do not forget me


Pioneer Square, 2017


I'd rather have no talk

I’d rather have no talk than small talk

Spare me from silences that cling to the

Walls and drip down molasses

Followed with hollowed sympathy

To keep up faux-cordiality


I’d rather have no talk than small talk

Do not fear the painful truths

Words that creep from your mouth

On insect legs and manifest in

Chewed fingers and bleeding lips


I’d rather have no talk than small talk

Please share with me your nostalgia

And your envy and malicious ponderings

Only written to yourself to be

Tucked into a filing cabinet behind

The left ear


I’d rather have no talk than small talk

Please tell me that I am inept  and

Lay bare to me all of my misconceptions

And laugh with me in recognition that

From our respective points in the world

We are left with gaps in our view

Leaving us mistaken about it all


I’d rather have no talk than small talk



(Photo by Mary Kate Teske)