man’s welcome redundancy

i did that thing

where i started a poem

for you

but the thing is

you know everything i would say

and often i’ve already said the things

i want to say again

and it’s always worrisome

to repeat myself because

what if you get bored or tune me out

or forget what it was like

the timbre of my voice

the very first time you heard me sing

for you

the first time, too, it turned out i knew

what i was talking about.

of course i like reassurance

and have yet to tire of

your bubbling laughter

and eyes alive their own source of light

so hurrah for restating

i love you all of the time

everywhere and yes

i think of you and you move me

as the ocean or the moon

(or both, i guess they’re partners,

those two)

i will be your ocean

and you the moon above

tell me where to go and

what to do and what

sandcastles to knock down

and once more

i love you.

a crowded cafe, somewhere

what do you think he’s waiting for

one whispered to the other

leaning in e-ver-so-slightly

over the table the two shared.

the one who had not spoken

placed his glass down and he squinted

as if reading the man’s posture

as words written on a page.

perhaps began the second man

now whis-per-ing to the first

it is not ‘what’ but ‘whom.’

author ernest in frustration

today, i started at least six poems

but i hated all of them so i

ripped them from the typewriter

balled them rather violently

and flung them into the waste bin

before downing the rest of my gin and tonic

ok, fine, so i

highlighted all of the text

and pressed delete

and took a sip of filtered water my office provides.

oh, what heartbreak!

three poems written on a sunday

‘surely, someone was president, right?’

the year was 1904

and i don’t have a damn clue

what happened or why it did.

* * *

geometry of sorts

if i draw a straight line

one, i’d need a ruler or

straight edge, because

my artistic talent is rather lacking

from me to you

two, i’d need you to remain

rather still which i don’t see happening

as you move and shake like the wind

will you still be there

when my straight line

i guess it would be a segment

as a line from me to you

would not be infinite

though i hope to spend

forever with you

well, of course

that’s also a metaphor

‘cause i’m already 33

so let’s forgive technicalities

becomes the point

that was point a to b

and is now the point

and very close space shared

by you and me?

* * *

claw marks on drywall

i’m worried there might be wolves in the house

i’ve noticed clusters of padded prints in the kitchen

and claw marks on the drywall in the pantry

just above the cereal i eat for morning breakfast.