Ars Poetica: The Fiction of Truth

Since I do understand the importance

Of narrative, I tell stories without

Telling stories, like now, as I write this

Poem. I’ve created a fiction of me,

Truthfully, yet still a grounded fiction,

Who is speaking to you, someone absent,

As if we were strangers ordered to share

A rough table in a pub. But instead 

of talking about the local football 

team, or rudely about the government,

I talk to you as if you are in love,

Listening, as I speak, rather than write,

These simplistic thoughts upon this blank page,

And pretend you did not leave years ago.

(January 11, 2019)

The Weight of Regret


to lost friends


The weight of silence

is not the same

as the weight

of absence;

anymore than the weight

of disappearance

can be the same as

the weight of being left.


The weight of forgetting

is much lighter

than the weight

of the forgotten—

for it does not carry the weight

of all that can be remembered.


(July 25, 2018)

Known and Unknown



she knew he thought she hinted

the words he wrote were heard

she knew he thought she wanted

him to speak them to her


he knew she thought he hinted

the words she wrote were heard

he knew she thought he wanted

her to speak them to him


they knew they thought they hinted

the words they wrote were heard

they knew they thought they wanted

each other to speak true


yet secrets left unsaid

are best left to the dead


(April 15, 2018)

the untold continues despite silence


there is always that moment which arrives

when the conversation has abated

and all that must be said remains unsaid

and our minds’ sharp intimacies depart

amid insincere handshakes and chaste hugs

in a doorway and what occurred that night

vanishes into small talk’s silent wish


and this wish is somehow always the same

which is somehow that what one says matters

enough somehow to whomever may hear

that they will somehow respond in a way

which will somehow equate as well to your

first desire and yet still somehow both will

mange to survive your disparate lives


(January 31, 2018)

He Sees He Says



He resists his clichés

With their tiny reins

Guiding the blinder’s

Simplistic vision.

“Everything’s okay,”

he says, yet knows, as she,

it is all just a lie:

her questions, the feigned

interest, are too much—

too coy in their intent

for him to be okay.

He feels his answers

Thicken like cataracts

Clouding all before him.


(January 15, 2018)