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Literature Text
they look a little bit like
railroad tracks
and boy do they
take me places
i wish i'd never been
(i always said i wanted to be a hitchhiker
but i didn't know what that meant
until now)
they're like books stacked neatly on shelves
para l l el lines
and by god
do they tell a story
(just don't read it to your kids before bed
you wouldn't want to plant these monsters
in their heads)
they aren't engravings
run your hands across my arms
and try to understand the
raises and
measure the spaces in between
(these aren't hieroglyphics don't try to read them-
they'll whisper stories but not if you try to hear them
let them be and maybe next time they won't bleed
as much)
take this for what you will but it's not romanticism i just call it like i see it
railroad tracks
and boy do they
take me places
i wish i'd never been
(i always said i wanted to be a hitchhiker
but i didn't know what that meant
until now)
they're like books stacked neatly on shelves
para l l el lines
and by god
do they tell a story
(just don't read it to your kids before bed
you wouldn't want to plant these monsters
in their heads)
they aren't engravings
run your hands across my arms
and try to understand the
raises and
measure the spaces in between
(these aren't hieroglyphics don't try to read them-
they'll whisper stories but not if you try to hear them
let them be and maybe next time they won't bleed
take this for what you will but it's not romanticism i just call it like i see it
Literature
Summer Evenings
It is,
The whisper of a leaf about to bud,
Framing the spring rose
tucked behind your ear.
It is,
A late-night stroll,
Wind ripples through the rustles of grass
Humming along to the song of falling stars.
It is
Balancing yourself carefully,
Lithely dancing across the narrow beam
On the overgrown, barnyard fence.
It is,
A scandalous burst of lemon,
Lips twist into a sour grimace-
An ironic sweetness.
Literature
NaPoWriMo 2020 06: Shimmer
August rains
and I came and went
and came and went,
clinking wine bottles
over prickly steps
and palming imprints
on your blankets.
I stayed for an evening's satiation
and left through the back door.
You thought perhaps I'd linger,
but I prefer to miss you, love,
from a distance,
from miles away at home.
I heard your kettle whistle
in a dream, even caught
the candlescent
as you recited psalms
for the souls drifting past
your shuttered window.
I know somewhere you still
dance your hair into artful disarray,
and I toss and turn some nights
to the music you might play.
April hits and elsewhere it is spring,
but here there
Literature
el mundo malo
but sometimes the old story comes slinking in again and all the shadows suddenly have teeth and i am small backed into a corner where i cannot fight them where nothing smells like summer mornings anymore just wolf
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Comments3
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You're poems are beautiful and I honestly can't tell if they're based off of your own experiences or not, because you don't say they are but the emotion in them feels real. So because of that, I'm just going to give you some virtual hugs, just in case. 
