What type of water are you?

NaPoWriMo Day Twenty-One

I. 

Tide pool

is for when

you're feeling isolated

and temporary,

but perhaps also

more interesting

than usual, on account

of all the new things

you learned

scrolling Instagram

this morning.

II. 

Strait best applies

to very specific

circumstances, but also

to far more 

varied happenings

than you might think - 

it is the catch-all

of nature's maritime

dividing lines, 

not quite unique

at all. 

III.

You might consider

lagoon for those moments

when a barrier

feels appropriate, 

such as

if you'd prefer

that Alex from

three cubes over

not share the stories

of his inauspicious

romantic enterprises

at 8:24 in the morning.

IV.

If the heaviness

of mankind's

myriad misadventures

begins to chip

your armor, 

perhaps canal 

would not be 

the appropriate choice - 

best not

to dwell on it

any further. 

V. 

In the mood

to mingle?

Then estuary

fits the bill - 

intertwining

disparate realms, 

in a way that 

feels productive

and natural.

But be warned, 

such machinations

are often fragile. 

Pincers

NaPoWriMo Day Nineteen. Off prompt.

Depth is felt

best by those

who have already

been crushed - 

and now, 

all the more ready

to catch another

in the vice grips, 

like an enormous

crustacean, 

presently reddening

in the pot, 

eager to share

its buttery grave. 

The Rockies

NaPoWriMo Day Sixteen

Maybe you can imagine

one deafening crash

after another, and another, 

the movement of two or more

boundlessly large objects 

grappling in violent collision.

Maybe you can see now, 

in the space where these objects

were once peacefully separate, 

skyward growth, sharp and

treacherous, towering over

entire continents that surround it. 

Maybe you can hear

how quiet it's become since then,

how only the leylines of the wind, 

the hiss of ever-falling snow, 

and sparse traffic of humanity 

now intersect upon it. 

Maybe if I idle here - beard frozen, 

skin dry - for silent eons enough, 

these peaks will speak to me. 

Buried treasure

NaPoWriMo Day Fifteen

Love is
a cast iron vessel
left empty

a time capsule
buried 

wherever you think
only one intended person
will look
sealed to
outlast generations
of feckless weirdos

Turns out
the weirdos have
metal detectors

Swipe to fill in

NaPoWriMo Day Fourteen

      Help
comes in many shapes - this 

one happens to be a

too-many-fingered hand, 

slathered in chocolate 

sauce, rolled in some off-brand 

sugar cereal, and 

held out to tantalize

      me

as if any pool of 

desperation could be 

deep enough for me to 

shake it. Its syrupy

filth would soon seep just as

liquid-hot slag into 

every syllable I

      write, 

setting it and all else

aflame. But take comfort, 

friends - the war is elsewhere, 

and soon they'll bless us to

reduce ourselves to sleep, 

and dream of the ghost that 

animates the machine. 

The lake

NaPoWriMo Day Thirteen

The lake produces

paltry waves, but enough

to take the dock from 

left to right,

front to back, 

and it rattles against

the metal poles

that brace it to shore.

We drop

our grandfather's ashes

in remembrance,

a pittance

to whatever god

carved this crater, 

filled it with water 

and fish and mud. 

Something

bubbles up from where

the packets sink - 

an acknowledgement 

perhaps, or

recognition of belonging, 

desperation to return 

to the surface. 

On a silver boat

NaPoWriMo Day Twelve

In a glass case

rests a silver boat

On a silver boat

rests the soul of a man

The man wakes

from time to time

and remembers who he was

The man remembers

who they were - 

the people that surrounded him

The man remembers

where he took them,

the man remembers

what he taught them,

the man remembers

what he built for them

The man remembers

that they remember him

Now the man rests

on a silver boat

in a glass case

and he reminds them

Morning

NaPoWriMo Day Ten

No surprise - the sun has risen

yet again, and at just the right angle

to upset my fidgeting non-sleep,

a brazen intruder in my room

who sets my splintered nerves alight.

What do I regret most? (Nothing,

none of this was really your fault.)

Your comforting words are an insult. 

What do I regret most? (That you 

were weak enough for second chances.) 

The wise among us say it is possible

to find mastery in your own undoing, 

to process the crumbling. But all I feel

is a spiteful itch - it has drilled inside,

beyond the most intrepid scratching. 

Neighborhood pine

NaPoWriMo Day Nine

There is 

an offhandedness

to this death, 

because

we know it is

temporary. 

I am not

unaffected, 

but a few spent

needles

is of little worry - 

I persist. 

All winter

they freeze

and harden, 

retreat

within themselves

until spring. 

I watch

their solitude, 

planted in

neat rows

as if beauty 

never

came naturally. 

I am dead

NaPoWriMo Day Eight

I am dead.

Every breath I take is like

taking a drag on a seething inferno

laced with cyanide. 

I hack and sputter

as I transmit my lunch orders

to distressed-looking waiters

at my favorite café. 

I am dead. 

My sleep is perturbed 

by painful memories and 

bothersome distractions like 

pop-up ads in the corner 

of my mind's eye, floaters

thick as steel cable

bounding from edge to edge

in an unhinged parkour routine. 

I am dead. 

Every day is exactly the same. 

I drive past the same 

mini-malls on the same

highways through the same

overcrowded stretches

of colorfully blinding vacancy. 

I am dead.

I can think of no other explanation, 

no reasonable cause

for my lifeless wanderings, 

ambling like a restless shade

at the unopening gates of Hades. 

I am dead. 

It is my most closely-guarded

secret - I am afraid to tell even

my friends, for fear that they already

know, or perhaps even worse, 

that they are all dead, too. 

Lunarcy

NaPoWriMo Day Six. This one is ridiculous. 

I used to do most of my 

best thinking lying on my back

in the shallowest part of the ocean. 

No, not the one you're thinking of, 

near the old landing where

that guy's boat pulled his truck

right along with it into the waves - 

It's the other one, you'd know it

if you saw it, but I'm having trouble 

thinking of a suitable landmark. 

Anyway, I pondered some of life's 

most minor worries in that spot, 

decided what to wear to my

ex-girlfriend's wedding while

halfway covered in sea water. 

Her dad invited me, always liked me. 

Didn't want to disappoint the guy. 

So anyway there I was again, 

but this time it wasn't working. 

For the longest time I could tell

something was different but

couldn't pinpoint it exactly, 

and then it finally synced up - 

every time I breathed in and out, 

the water was moving up and down! 

Who could think straight trying to

relax on a watery roller coaster? 

I was frantic for answers. I looked up 

and saw the moon doing woosahs. 

I raised my arms, incredulous, 

like when someone cuts you off in traffic, 

but you know they can't see you.

It's barely noon, I screamed, you're early!

The moon turned with an exasperated

stare, fixed it's craters on me and asked, 

How else do you want me to make it

through the day? Do you want a tsunami? 

Because this is how you get a tsunami. 

Morning bell

NaPoWriMo Day Five

What is life

if not for living? 

It is certainly not

best spent sleeping, 

and yet - 

my most fervent curses, 

my most hate-laden

"fuck," 

I reserve

for the always-too-early, 

cringingly gentle

(like it's trying too hard), 

inescapable calling-upon

that it is time

to wake up. 

Frost bound

NaPoWriMo Day Four

The last door left open

slams shut in a chilling breeze. 

Thermometer's not broken, 

but it has given up a few degrees. 

Nature's alarm bells have rung

to signal oncoming decay. 

No more the plantings are sprung -

they're gone, dormant, out of the way. 

The first crisp on the grass, 

just a dash of a much stronger brew - 

not soon will adversity pass,

just hold on - a warm fire must do. 

Unraveling

NaPoWriMo Day Three. Off prompt today. 

Here is an unraveling 

of all things. 

     (a sufficient reminder

      to vet your tailor well) 

Threads lay draped, 

limp as drying spaghetti, 

but as portentous 

as a coiled boa. 

Here is a needle

that will pass through

the eye of a camel

     (or any other livestock 

      you may have close at hand) 

and leave it whole - 

far more should you fear

what is to follow. 

Head egg

NaPoWriMo Day Two

There is no elasticity
to karma
but there is plenty
in an air-filled
sit-on bouncy ball
raised up as a shield
to your older brother's
playful (I swear it!)
baseball bat bonk.

There is no surprise
greater than physics
or more impactful
than a somehow unforeseen

Uno Reverse of that bonk
to your own forehead.

Misalignment tankas

NaPoWriMo is officially on - here's Day One.

I. 

Donate your spare time,

the "extra," the un-needed. 

Donate your organs. 

Will your actions match your words? 

Is there peace, or reckoning? 

II. 

Call them pre-modern, 

as "primitive" is uncouth. 

Even the past cries. 

Preserve their uninformed means

of navigating the world. 

III. 

Before noon, we cried 

to witness the end of time. 

Clocks were unwelcome. 

Necks crane to find an angle

along which there may be meaning. 

IV.

Behold the canyon, 

an opening of spent flesh, 

pothole of the gods. 

There will be no deepening, 

no energetic myth here. 

V.

Open eye or mind, 

but mercy - never try both.

Hearts are frail enough. 

Give speed to the tumbling, 

and prepare to greet the ground.