Capturing Campus: October

Futon Talk

sprawled out on the couch
you drop–hypnotized and m e l  ti n g
into the futon that sque aks as you
plummet into rainbows
tasting of cherries and grape soda
licking at the air as your pupils e x p a n d
and the silence is LOUD
spinning into a frenzy
you tell me you’ve never been so happy
yet I don’t see you smile
you tell me, it’s true, you’ve never been so happy
so I believe you
laying there, I count the minutes
between the sober black and white
of the clock on the wall
tick tock    you say    tick tock
I tell you I’ve never been happy
you tell me I’m smiling

Capturing Campus: October


the moon watches over me
as it retires behind the bold sun

it prays for peace
in a day to be lived
well and with vitality
it stands in solidarity
an enduring reminder
of birthdays long gone

and when black ink takes hold
amidst the chill and constellations
it appears
bright as day
to say goodnight
and welcome home

Capturing Campus: October


you told me you were a witch
sorting tarot cards with stubby fingers
prancing between old oak trees
casting spells that you dreamed up
tossing herbs in a cauldron pot
chanting gibberish at the stars
you gasped and cried out
praises for life
distanced from the past
future manifestations
of hope that would last
your heart on your tongue
bleeding words with vigor
but I knew they weren’t listening
just watching you like a million eyes
but I let you believe
because you were magic to me

Capturing Campus: September

Spindly Legs

if the mind has legs
they are spindly
like a spider’s or vines on a plant
which turn, wrap, squeeze, intertwine
without secure direction or honest intention

you look at me
with my spindly legs
but your smile is mischief
like the Cheshire cat’s up above
clinging to a branch in the dark

I find you hard to trust
and I’m sure you’d say the same

Capturing Campus: September

Movie Magic Omission

munching on an apple in the kitchen because its 2:00 am
snoring because of the five-block traffic jam
licking the yellow strip on an envelope because it’s somehow still 2003
scrolling through dog videos because the test isn’t tomorrow
fishing for the last lucky charm in the bowl because you’re stubborn, damn it
gasping for breath because a Target run can’t wait
nothing is like the movies.

Capturing Campus: September


Why does it always rain on picnic days?
I stumble, picking up the pace
Still, I’m just shy of the group
that somehow knows one another
deeper than I can dive,
which isn’t saying much

They exchange stories like money
smiles like candy
laughs like party favors
before I stop
as they spread, starfish
on beach blankets
and swallow sandwiches
not knowing
that I know
the rain is on its way
because it always rains on picnic days