i’ll leave you a pen

when i go

i’ll leave it sitting,

silently waiting

for something

to grow

i’ll leave it laying,

sleeping

above a sea of blank pages,

an ocean of creamy paper

it will be there

waiting for you to set sail,

across its pages

depart from one cover

on an adventure to the other

i will leave you a pen

to make the journey

when i go

sitting in a quiet café

i take in the scene of a furniture set

elevated just slightly from the rest of the lobby

its pieces standing just above me

two simple red chairs and a just-as-simple red couch

set around the most basic coffee table

ever fit together,

long, skinny and small, it sits low to the ground

a ‘please do not touch’ sign 

resting crooked in its center

a fold of thick plastic with bold lettering

much like the ‘reserved’ signs

that dot the tabletops in fancy restaurants 

and i can’t help but imagining 

the odd characters of the café’s paintings 

climbing down out of their frames after closing,

taking up their reserved seats around the coffee table

to discuss the bizarre shapes and colors,

the subtle meaning in our painted lives

i have a large map

that lives on the corner of my desk

its tight lines and winding dotted trails

choreograph a place and journey 

i know from start to finish

and finish to start

this map owns its place on my desk

not to guide my feet through mountains

nor as proof of conquest via chart

those winding dotted trails

map out the journey of my heart

i made you an origami butterfly 

out of a dollar bill today

it took me a few hours

to finally get it right

making every crease perfect,

straight and even,

and just when i finished

the very last fold

it shook itself awake

and flew away

the sun and i are enemies.

it is the reminder that a reality exists 

beyond the caste walls of my imagination.

it reminds me there are responsibilities 

other than dreaming,

like the laundry. 

the sun is that person

who constantly reminds me 

of assignments i haven’t started

or that my inspection sticker

is about to expire.

it works in tandem with the alarm

to tear me from my dreams,

to scream at me that they aren’t real.

the hammering in the kitchen 

did not bother me this afternoon

as i spread myself across

the length of my bed for a nap

each loud bang was simply

an exclamation to my exhaustion 

and i nodded off in agreement 

sail with me into the dark

there is nothing there to fear

sail with me into the dark

there is nothing left for us here

—

let our cargo be infinity 

and our path be our own

let the impossible wash over us

and our sense of adventure be our home

—

our pasts be damned!

let us leave the last shades of reality 

hanging in the trees above,

the last rays of an accusatory sun

fading, slipping away into the night

forget patience 

i’ll let my mind wander,

adventure

sail over mountains 

sink to the bottom of the sea

shape clouds in the sky

journey deep into dark caves

and ride along endless rapids

by the time you’re ready

i’ll be somewhere 

you never dreamed of

altering gravity

is only for the brave 

because perception can alter

what we call reality 

and cause our imagination 

to cave,

fold in on itself 

and take our world under. 

for most, the thought

of really looking

is simply just a wonder 

but to the brave

it is a hunger

it calls my attention back

but i look away

—

yet its stare is ever-present 

impossible to ignore

because it is there on the desk

and it is there in my mind

looking at me with inquisitive eyes

—

“why wont you look at me?”

it asks

“why even put me on your desk?”

—

“because”

i turn to it and say

“you know why”

blankslate:

devour
the poem as
it devours
you.

its juices
flow down
your lips
as you drip
off the edge
of every stanza.

hope
the words run
out before you
do.

my pen is a dagger 

that i keep shaprened

shiny and rust free

throwing it against the page

day after day

practicing my aim

just in case

i flip through the poetry collection 

she abandoned on the shelf

noticing all the pages wearing bunny ears

and thinking to myself

these must be the ones

she liked the best

but the wear was even

on every page

every corner dirtied 

by the flipping thumb

and i realize,

these are not the ones

she enjoyed the most

simply,

the ones she got to first

a cloud curls up to the mountain 

two insects crawl along its back

through its thick coat 

in danger of being shaken off 

at any moment

the fog is thick, suffocating 

visibility low, there’s no chance of landing

they’ve been flying across the valley walls

for so long

like a ghost ships, they are forgotten 

left to float about with certain misdirection 

never any destination 

until they happen, finally, to run ashore