Poetry Time: Reflections

I stared at you through the mirror,

which would never work in reality.

You’d always catch my eyes,

like gleaming jewels in the light,

and toss them back at me

through the reflection.


This time, you did everything

you could to avoid my gaze.

You searched your pockets

for some long-forgotten sweet.

You fiddled around inside your

glove compartment, maybe read

some parts of the owner’s manual.


Maybe you discovered something

you’d never known before. Maybe

you looked to the mirror without

seeing my reflection and read those words:

Objects in the mirror are

closer than they appear.

Poetry Time: Words

February 8, 2011


I use that word way too much. My new favorite word is


and I used to like


a lot when I was in high school (I still use it often, though).

There are a few others I find myself ashamed that I am constantly using, such as


some other four-letter words

but I really like


because it sounds so pretentious and is used to talk about pretentious people talking.

My dad always likes to use


but I don’t really care much for it, although I find myself using it like it’s come to me through osmosis.


sounds good, is nice.

Poetry Time: Exaltation

January 19, 2010

I have known the deep silence of bent heads,
believing, buried in thought—maybe blessed, maybe bitter—
but still. Still as the arms weighted down in the pews,
slabs of lead at stiff, still sides, hearing a lesson
painted in shimmers along the walls, fourteen shimmering stories
that eyes caress with emotions as leaden as immobile
arms and hands, the blues, the reds, the purples, the yellows
that somehow penetrate this absence of speech.
And I know that somewhere buried below the surfaces
through all the false shimmer in modernity—that somehow
in thought, the arms will be free—the thoughts will be lifted—
the lessons will penetrate, the painstaking work of learning
will cause the bent heads to rise, to breathe—in exaltation.