Tagged: friendships

birthdays come and go,

on day four hundred

on day four hundred
and forty-nine, inviting friends
to warm up our new

home – a luxury, and so much
gratitude that we’re still here

in the middle of

things change

things change.
i do and i don’t i hear
you say.

things change.
twenty years later, you
are eighty weeks and two
days dead.

things change.
i am reading
the days run away
like wild horses over the
, and they haven’t

between thirty-four

between thirty-four
and forty-eight, we are
celebrating birthdays
in the east village
tonight, stringing the
eighties to the nineties
from the jukebox in
the corner. most of us
will become more
repetitive with
time – for now, we
will rely on
booze and song

on a scale of walking

on a scale of walking
into traffic and
walking into the sea,
last night i
chose the sea,
and when i reached it,
you called me
out of the blue,
an accusatory tone
in your voice,
taking me back
to the days when
i’d arrive at my
childhood home
and not ring you up.
i was found out,
i leaned the
heaviness against you
so that i could
find a new
balance, and you
shifted so that you
could accommodate
the weight. i
wandered alongside,
instead of into,
though the sound of
the waves will always
compete with your voice

we made a pact,

we made a pact,
twenty days
into the new year,
that we would keep
our resolutions
simple – just
stay alive
it’s quite
we’ve never
had to make
resolutions before

you caught me between

by the window seat

by the window seat
of something like
love, we cultivate
appreciation, consider
the mechanics to
lifting and being
lifted, scrutinize
the depth of our
aimless goodwill

i have become too

i have become too
comfortable, i say and
do things that may be

debatable – here is the
string, a reminder that pulls