Discounted Poetry

Today's a day of signatures, Of cataclysmic gavels, Locking portals, Short and final goodbyes. I'm told the branches of the road Are singing promises. I only feel this phantom love Like an open jugular. The sky is monolithic concrete Falling. - 11/9/26

The grass remaining on the ground, Her carefully cultivated hair, is freshly rinsed and lushly brown. Autumn changes everything. So many burning hues, A sense of burnished endings, An avalanche  Of dying beauty. I see her in the steamy window. She is closing the cover of her hardback And staring at my hair Too long around my neck and collar. I've haven't noted admiration or approval In months. I never had to ask. I could have simply acted dumb. I know, however, August always crawls into October. - 11/5/26

Even with the wind Retreating guilty from us, The slightest smell  Of piled logs and branches Smoking Sneaks like roly-polies Through the vents Onto the front car seats. We watch the orange-red bonfire Like an Easter crucifix As silver wisps of breath Reveal the time your ex Reduce you to an inch Unloved, Fragile dreams of a college degree For your only son, And how you wish you could twist about your nose Already absolutely perfect. And the fire paints you muted blushing lemon, And your dancing hands say everything I can't, And night with all its quiet life Is sanctifying every inch of darkness, And this could be the holy place The falling streaking stars All land. - 11/4/26

She kneels beneath the burning tree And waits Afraid, Her hair the color of the leaves, Unfoiled caramel and milky chocolate bars. Believe, It all could bloom, A star in blinding birth. It could continue shriveled, Falling. - 11/3/26

The empty waiting, Sickly yellow disappointment, You are wrecked inside the constant ticking. Italy will wait on you. Besides Milan is just America with far more vowels, And Rome is merely home to tourists. Florence and Venice, though, Will rearrange you, Steal a chuck of who you were And add something more quiet, Vivid. Tender child, Never you imagined You would make the flight Alone, But o, There's yet a world You never did expect. You're sturdier than you suspect, And life is wild. Venice waits. - 11/2/26

The reservoir is dry. The lock on the safe Was broken months ago. I always hoped my wit Would compensate For my appearance, My lackluster looks, But she swears She'd study lines along my face, My richest eyes For hours. She is always sliding her sweet open hand Across and down my desert cheek. The drops Are muddying The dust and concrete. I walk above With feet clean. -10/30/26