A door

A door is
nothing more than
a surrealist dream
remembered
by morning light.

A circle is
nothing more than
an infinite tunnel
in a blinking
instance of doubt.

A teardrop is
nothing more than
every moment of fear
brought to
vibrant life.

A redemption is
nothing more than
another opportunity for
a reason
to keep moving.

A door is
nothing, yet
without the room
beyond
there would be
++nothing but …

(dtn)

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Tell me how

Tell me how
++or when
++or why
that distant shadow
became this gray mood.

Tell me how
++or when
++or why
those brilliant vagueries
could be so easily swept away.

Tell me how
++or when
++or why
even in this blank stare
your smile remains.

Perhaps if I knew
I could join in,
but I suspect
if the secret could be
++so easily shared
it wouldn’t be
++worth knowing.

(dtn)

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Refusal

Are those for me,
those emeralds
of lonesome anguish,
those frightened breaths
of early morning,
or merely
the remnants
of the week’s end ended
refusing to take hold
like old glue on new skin?

(dtn)

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My theory of everything

I’ve devised a theory of everything
limited to the shape of handbags
and the squeal of brakes, each integer
carved from the shadows of your smiles
as the morning sun caresses the day’s clouds
into place, the hum of the cosmos
overanalyzed and misinterpreted as more
much more than waves between stars
dying and singing in the same breath,
an irrefutable testament to beauty
transcending the language of love
and doubt and the tears pooling in
the corners of your eyes as you press
again and again against the ceiling
thick and inconsolable with time.

(dtn)

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A dollop of spring

A white-hot eye climbing atop a molten sun
A lemon drop floating in a still and silent sea
A secret red as night paints the horizon
What drove the clouds from a perfect yesterday?
What question did those crisp shadows answer?
There’s no shame in the purple shades of doubt
Only in not admitting you prefer those hues
A tree has no more use for pity than a fork
And so I let you grow as free and wild as them
Working instead to carve your path forward
Leaving the climb up and through to you

(dtn)

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Speaking in tongues

What if dreams
++are simply a language
What if dreams
++we don’t understand?

What if beauty
What if dreams
++is simply miscommunication
++between emotions?

Would kindness
++be as radiant in age
++as it is in youth?

Would music
++be as melodic
++in the resulting doubt?

(dtn)

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A man walks in

A man walks in
A king
A student
An artist of all the world’s beauty
I know his face
Wore it as my own
Drew my emotions from his wrinkles
Measured my smiles from his eyes
A man walks in
A man walks out
Not the same man
Not a different man either
Just a man
A shadow without a sun
A question with no answer
A mirror with two legs
A satellite, silent and steady
A man walks in and me with him

(dtn)

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