Infinite Recursion

Sine curves weave through calculus books,
Deriving into cosine arcs
Only to become sine curves
Once again -
"The sine curve is a circle over time."

The same swirling doodle stamps my notebooks,
Curling about the margins,
Inviting the tails of my g's and y's
To engage with it -
"Be a part of the circle."

Déjà vu imprints each day,
Whispering a litany of familiarity,
Noting down to even the barest
Trace of irony -
"Infinite recursion states life is a circle."

The same people wander through my life,
Demanding uncomfortable answers,
Sometimes receiving little more
Than passing acknowledgement -
"I want out of this circle."

Sine curves weave through calculus books,
Deriving into cosine arcs,
Only to become sine curves
Once again -
"The sine curve is the circle over time."

In the Darkness

The sun barrages the asphalt,
brightness hazing the black and greasy
stove-top parking lot.
The heat kills the breeze -
the collage of leaves in the distance
is still.

The students swarm between a line of buses,
laughing familiarly,
leaning on instrument cases
as they knock back huge jugs of water.
They sweat in the sunshine,
bared legs shiny with moisture,
salt and asphalt grime.

The girl hunches tight to herself,
heels pressed to thighs under long navy skirt,
back against a bus,
her thin slice of darkness
slowly receding.

She balances a notebook on her knee,
tongue caught between her teeth
as she slashes a pen across the gut of the page,
making it bleed with green ink,
and the hard possibility
of coming to light.

Birth of a Poem

Standing on the lip of a canyon -
The sunset spilling blood on the sand,
The bright, floating drops hot,
Like glitter fresh off a dancer's breasts -
Fortune caught my eye.

She winked,
Touched the tip of her tongue to the sharp edge of one fang,
Glided closer,
Pressed shivers into my neck
With a soft palm.

I felt her teeth graze my ear,
Her breath condensing on my skin
As she commanded in a whisper:
"Watch this."

She flitted away,
Bowed theatrically -
Laughing,
Kicked a drum set and a cymbal off a cliff.

Numbly, I pressed 'record,'
And listened to the air whistle
Before the punchline.

Poetry... HERE

I am going to start posting some of my more recent poetry here. None of the old stuff - just stuff I'm working on now or have written in the past year.

There are several reasons for this change in content policy: 1) AllPoetry, the site I've been using to host my poetry, has changed its posting policy in a way that is not conducive to how I wish to use the website. 2) Most of what I've been writing lately is poetry. 3) I've decided it doesn't really make any sense to make you go visit extra pages to see my poetry.

So, voila. Poems. There's going to be a whole glut of them posted after this point.

Enjoy. :)