Parents sent package
Full of food stuffs and kitsch
I did not know which
I dare to eat first
And the rest to work disperse
I wanted to share
Open box with care
Raisins crackers ramen prunes?
Bring to work I dare?
Grail at the bottom
A holy treasure to eat
Fortune cookies–sweet!
Some broken open
Contents shifted during flight
Purge defects from sight
Rather than throw out
Broke ones and fortunes they flout
Stuff them in my mouth
When I was in the military
My call sign was
Mask
What more can I do
But craft sentence after sentence
Until I have no more words left?
I’m a puzzle too
Just like you are to me
I’m afraid the person who finally gets back up
After being knocked down
Won’t be me anymore
They’re only words on a page
But seem very real to me
More so than the routine reality
That I regularly engage
There my role will never change
The teams have already been chosen
The rosters locked out and frozen
Configurations cannot be rearranged
Some think me sullen
Others may say I’m quite aloof
How small talk leaves me spooked
That I’m unrelatable to no end
So a myth I must become
Given the company I keep
Using deeds to defeat
And unexpected wit to stun
Soaring above the boring
With a literary bravado
Riddling others like a quiz show
Twisting words and meanings
But gamesmanship goes only so far
I prefer strength in solitude
To contemplate and allude
Rather than being a blaring quasar
When the myth has drained my so-called batteries
I cloak myself in my secret identity
And the question becomes who’s the real me
If the only clues I leave are my poetry?
I have no choice but to stop
I am trapped at the top
With no way down
But now I am cornered
That together they stick as the tower stands taller
Hoping the words are sturdy as bricks
So I keep rambling away
In the reader’s imagination
Lacks meaningful depth to take purchase
But the power encoded on the surface
Elevating the babbling tower like no other
Chains engaging sprockets
As the verses rise like a rocket
So let me change metaphors
Because I wasn’t paying attention
My poetic flotilla will run ashore
That the words will flow no more
I am fleeing the possibility that it’ll stop
Running from bottom to top
When I double check the math
I am reminded
That I am better at adding words together
When I learn the science
My mind’s defiant
And prefers to know why sentences work
When I coax my soul to sing like a fiddle
I’m the victim of a riddle
What breaks without ever cracking first?
When I contemplate my religion
It’s easier with motorcycle engines
Though I hate getting my hands dirty
And when I sit isolated at my desk
The eye of a hurricane that has made a big mess
I start thinking again
Of double checking my math
I know that sometime in the future
Something will remind me of you
And regardless of how we knew each other
I cannot help but smile
Don’t be sad;
Let me be sad for you.
The Space Between Me and You 