Candied Imperfection

Deliberate imperfection
is the heart in my chest,
a little doodle drawing
with an unsteady hand,
twirled and forgettable
but nonetheless real.
Here we dream
Dream with me
of our jagged edges
our soft centers like
lovers' covered candy.

The Poem that Survived Today

I choose light and wind.
I choose the me in it.
I am the ring in it,
Ding in it.

I choose the love-laughter,
The dance and mine, my heartbreak--
Still dances, still dancing,
Dancing in the window.

I will live and feel the wind.
I will weep in the arms of now.
We are strong and my angel's
voice lights a dreaded dawn.

Gentle hand, she rests upon me,
On my cheek, we are sweet.
When one dies, we all ache.
That is the chill in the rain.

Yet, I feel the surge of life,
Invoke her fire-studded strut.
We are her iridescence.
We are together beyond death

Knotted Cake

The stories are getting knotted now
when we see the dark
and the dying see the light.
Now, we can believe our fiction
since the dead cannot speak
to refute what we want to believe.
Can you tell me about the time
when you thought everything was
like cake? Can you tell me
that you once believed, wholly
in all quotes we use to console
eachother, when things get knotted?