I love the sounds of 
their sleeping breath near me through
the cold, black, long night.

He talked in that way
that told a story with each
syllable he breathed.

She lived in the gum
drop trees, on marshmallow dunes
near the River Fudge. 

The morning was dark 
and so cold. It took so long
to become the day.

Oh, you, sky that I 
could fly in to and float through
forever, always.

I thought I hadn't 
read it and I had. The poems
were marked with stars.

She was not the babe
I thought I'd have and I felt
like a bad mother.

She made fun of him 
to her parents and it made 
me super angry.

She sings me songs. Her

voice is a whisper. She knows 

what my heart might need.

"For here you are, 

standing there, loving me whether

or not you should."

                  -The Sound of Music

He had on a button-
down shirt and our kiss at 
midnight was awkward.

Speaking of that New Year's
Eve, I don't remember it 
particularly well. 

I was twenty. There 
was sweet vermouth on the rocks 
and a New Year's Eve.

He stroked what he thought 
was the baby's leg, but it 
was really my hand.

The cat slinked across 
the yard. Unaware was the 
bird of its demise. 

She squished dandelion 
seeds in her fingers. I saw 
wonder on her face.

Sometimes you have to 
make a million things before 
you make one thing great.

The day felt so dark. 
It wasn't, completely, but 
it sure felt that way.

We traipsed around
Barcelona with cards until 
we got asked to leave.

My writing is sad.
It won't come out today. It 
wants to be alone.

That city was so 
clean, I'd thought, and no one was
out before seven.

I called to tell him
his grandbaby lost a tooth,
he said, "So did I." 

They ashed, flicked then kicked 
their cigs to the street at the 
same time. It was weird.

Ready on the set.

Scene one, take one. Lights, camera, 

action! CUT! And scene.

I write about me
'cause that's what I know and 
I think you'll understand.

The story haunts me 
and will for my whole life. I'll 
dream of it tonight.

"When times go rough
won't you lay me down in tall grass and 
let me do my stuff."
                                    -Fleetwood Mac

As she moved by I 
heard her hip pop and I felt 
I knew her better. 

I asked him to dream 
about me and all night I 
wondered if he had.

A mended fence works 
as good as new, just a spot where 
the wood is brighter.

Call me a hippie,
hipster, free-lovin' liberal 
and I'll call you cool.

My heart is a leaf
blowing away in the wind. 
Never just resting.

His harmonica was
sweet. It brought tears to my eyes.
Then he stopped playing.

The gargoyles are 
there to protect my heart. By 
now they're cracked and old.

I'm living someone
else's dream and daydreaming 
away my own life. 

He lives his own dream
out there while I'm in here living
someone else's. 

The moon came out 
early to greet the world. She couldn't 
wait to hang with us.

I could tell by his 
sheer glee that something bad was 
about to happen.

One is loosing her
teeth and the other one is 
pushing her teeth through.

The sounds of 
Superman, a fire and lady babies 
chomping cookies.

I remember 
biking in the snow and ice, sad 
hearted in Boise.

The sky was everything 
today. Black, blue, rains, winds, 
white clouds, sun and shine.

Life, the tragic art.

We couldn't do without sirens and 

muses to guide us.

I would venture to
say that villains aren't caught 
chillin' all that often. 

The baby laughed through
the door window as I raked 
the leaves in the yard.

The conversations
I have now start with, "Hello"
end with, "Don't touch that!"

From my front window
I watch the cars drive by, the 
people walking, too.

It might've seemed that
way, but I wasn't sleeping. 
No, I was dreaming.

I am not okay 
with what you said and I want 
it out of my head.

He went through the whole
newspaper blacking out all 
the e's with a pen.

Her wet paws made 

little prints on the porch and it 

was crazy adorbs.

I'm so happy. It 
makes me elevated and half
scared all the damn time.

I don't wanna write 
a poem tonight! I don't, 
I don't, I don't!! Waaah! 

I had to rake the 
leaves before I could write. I 
had to clear my head.

I raked up the slug 

with the leaves, but it was too 

late. He was compost.

I like to think, 'Who's 

behind those dark windows and 

what might they be like?'

She got the wind in 
her hair and was gone. I was 
someone she once knew.