I bought a waterproof notepad in 2012 and hung it on my shower wall. For the next 40 days, I wrote a new poem every morning when I showered (save for one day when I didn’t shower at all). These poems are all very short—maybe even sweet—and cover a variety of topics.

No. One

Remember the ground
   as children?
Riddled with life
   & unknown decay;
bliss grew as tongues,
   teeth, & stretched lips.
   our potted smiles?

No. Two

Long ago, a pair
of hickory boys
blossom untold
budding grain.
Two doves grow
hungry, though,
& feast on seeds
of boiling rain.

No. Three

The 27 bones of my hand,
   with their sweaters
   & overcoats,
shield most of you all
   from the lightning
   & thunder
who stampede
   the singular organ
   of my clouded

No. Four

The clouds are in bloom;
   my nose seeps its life.
      Imagine the two
swapped hues:
   Rosebuds of the air
looking over
   my rushing waters.

No. Five

How can you suds
   bear what I’ve done?
You take my dirt
   & wash away
   all of my wrongs
   so I never
   will be filthy,
   never again.

No. Six

I wish I were an apple
   & some wonderly lovely
would do a bit of picking
   see my crisp surface
disregard concern for worms
   the caverns found
   & see me
      for what I’ve shown:
a fruit
   who is just fine.

No. Seven

Perhaps our clay is plain,
   the seas are spilling over…
All of life
   & its divine wishes
are cast upon the pirates
   marauding the microcosms,
whose glow we know
   to ever be
      the raiders’ light.

No. Eight

I have written
far too many
to find myself

No. Nine

My wife exists:
   I may know her,
   I may not.
But, oh, how I love her.
How I will
   tangle our fingers
   trace her silhouette
   tiptoe my lips
along those highs & lows.

No. Ten

I am engineer
   to the single greatest
      the head of war,
      the birth of calm;
      begin to loathe
      the ode to love;
      speak to life
      & all she was.


No. Eleven

I don’t know
   of Occam’s Razor,
I truly don’t know<
   all that much;
But I know
   how to write this down
      & such
         & such
            & such
               & such.

No. Twelve

Been showing nothing
but weariness
for the self-induced
laborless stroller-
directioneer peddling
those owl eyes
of his son,
but they know no
homeward bound

No. Thirteen

Men can go blind
   & deaf & dumb,
but if your sense
   of touch failed you,
warmth could not
   be found in love
nor a coldness
   found in loathing.

No. Fourteen

Coming days
   no longer belong
   to this town.
A city down the river
   stole my legs
   one Friday night.
Now I must
   walk her streets
   & really live.

No. Fifteen

Even when our sun
   dips behind the clouds,
I see:
      the silver lining
cannot remain stainless.
   And, so,
I lend my brush.

No. Sixteen

Each of us
A different shade of leaf
From varied brands of trees
Only gathered in piles
By the rake
Of the wind

No. Seventeen

Perpendicular & parallel
All of the walls—
Be obtuse
The shell of a pot
Who gives to growth.
Please, walls,
Give to growth.

No. Eighteen

Fatherland & Mothersea,
   I apologize
   for man’s burden,
   for the tears & the blood
   & the liquids
   we spill.
   Tell me,
   do you miss Atlas?

No. Nineteen

Curiosity set in
as to whether or not
Heaven & Hell
bid over my soul
upon the great absence
I shall receive
& detest.

No. Twenty

I am a pawn
who has not been shown
his place on the board,
who wanders & serves,
who holds every charge,
protects without cause,
   left to perish.


No. Twenty-One

Absorbful lips
& graceful kiss,
Breathing Tongue,
I have shown to you.

Deserted mist
& shallow wit,
Breathing Tongue,
I made known to you.

No. Twenty-Two

I long to wake
   for each new day
& am so fond
   to dream away
that when my
   darkest hour arrives
I’ll have no
   mouth for last goodbye.

No. Twenty-Three

When I awake
in a cold sweat,
would you mind
if I placed
the blame on you?

No. Twenty-Four

When my face
   is etched
with the roads
   I’ve traveled,
then! I will
   be ready
to truly go
   & never
      come back.

No. Twenty-Five

   of freckles
   about your body
will always point
   to home
in the night.

No. Twenty-Six

One in a million,
   you say?

There are thirty-five
Hundred other women

No. Twenty-Seven

Neither by anger
   nor passion,
my fist
   is the tightest knot.

No. Twenty-Eight

   a twenty-second year
   here as she leaves,
& I have nothing
   to behold
   of the first

No. Twenty-Nine

My mind
   is both deep
   & shallow.

I must swim,
   or be swallowed
   good & whole
   by the darkness.

No. Thirty

I am a moth
   fluttering about
through expansive
columned hallways
   with little
   to no motion.


No. Thirty-One

The bluebird—
   who fell
   from his nest,
   rather than soared
   beyond the nest—
is me.

No. Thirty-Two

I can hear
the train coming,
when I set
my ear
to the tracks,
   I don’t feel a thing.

No. Thirty-Three

with myself
is not easy,
& waking
proves even
more trying.

No. Thirty-Four

How much
time is left
before the ink
runs dry?

When will
the words

No. Thirty-Five

Blonde hair,
Brown hair,
Blue eyes,
Green eyes.

None will matter:
Refrain from lies.

No. Thirty-Six

Do you not wish
   you had wings
   & hollow bones?

      I do.

Soaring south
   sounds mighty nice,
   as I’ve been cold
   for far too long.

No. Thirty-Seven

When did I lose
   the Lord?

When I realized
   I could live
   without Him.

No. Thirty-Eight

Just when I think
I’m done falling—


—you take
my legs,
clear out
from below me.

No. Thirty-Nine

There is nothing
more common
than a stranger’s mind,

And there is little
to be done
but be deaf.

No. Forty

As the final hour

Will you be here,
   with me,

Or far from home?

September 10 – October 20

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