rise and fall of a parking lot god

So this one time I got punched
in my right jaw
by a man high on PCP
for no reason other than I
was walking through a parking lot
he forgot to inform me was
his devil's playground
angel dust coursing through his veins
he thought himself god of the pavement
the drugstore, his castle
the cars, his chariots
"Mind me!" he slurs through drooled grunts
as fist connects with metal and glass
then flesh, finding me at fault for
entering his domain without his permission
my trespass not quickly forgiven
no offer of daily bread
his will to be done in his personal
asphalt kingdom of heaven

his prayer is slightly different than mine.

as the police placed him in steel
did he ever realize
while coming down
that even devils come
as angels of light

to the young girl who thinks she is a grown woman

So I recently joined a free online dating site
or two
as a means by which to meet people
ok, women people
in my new city of Tulsa
and I've noticed a pattern
I cannot ignore

To the young girl who thinks she is a grown woman
Two babies
One 12 weeks old
The other two years
Tired of losers and assholes
Looking for a real man

Stop it
Stop with the pictures of you in your bikini from above
Stop with the kissy faces and lyrics from bad country songs
Stop with thinking you're more than the child you still are
You're not yet a real woman so
How can you be looking for a real man?
You have babies but you're
Still a baby yourself 
Don't tell me you're grown
because you have prematurely had to grow up
Forced to change diapers
and wipe spit-up
off of your Forever 21 top and

Abercrombie jeans 

This isn't Maury Povich
Acting like an adult and being one
are completely different
I'm sorry

Sorry for whatever circumstances forced you to
grow up before you should have
Now I know
There are always stories with
extenuating circumstances but
that's a different poem
This here is for you
The girl who earned this life path
Through conscious decisions
You were irresponsible
Birds and bees don't stop flying around
your bed or couch or back seat or truck
just because you're 15 and invincible
We all thought that once
And as of yet no one has pulled it off
Sex won't make him love you
Neither will fatherhood
You are not an easy bake oven
a nine month ingredient dump
You are worth more than that
Show me your value
You are youth
Show me grace. Smile.
You give life to those around you
Live yours for you
You are beautiful
Your eyes carry secrets man has forgotten
You need to remember this

And I'm willing to concede that
this isn't entirely your fault
Expectations of women today
can be so damn confusing with
the disparities between how
you're expected to act in public
versus the bedroom
Women in the public eye
using their children
and the way in which they made them
as media magnets
This is what meets their eyes daily
and eventually it takes its toll on a
young woman's heart and mind
Whores for attention so often get labeled
as the other when their babies are mistaken
for rouge, lipstick, and an invitation
"She's got kids so you know she puts out"
"But she's so sweet...how could that
have happened to such a young girl?
What a shame..."
Since when did children become shame...
That's why you're here
on this site
looking for a real man

And I'm a nice guy
but at 25 I know I am not ready
to father a child
and a girlfriend
And don't mistake my

concession for coddling
I'm willing to support you being
A mother to your child and
a young girl to yourself but
someone has to help you to realize that
albeit too soon, it's grown-up time now
So you won't be hearing from me 
other than in this poem 
Cause I may be a real man but
I'm not what you need
I pray that you find it

let's not be elephants

I wrote this poem with a sharpie pen
Fine point
Black ink
It is not my normal choice of pen
I'm picky like you
I used it because you said it was your favorite to write with
I wanted to write you

Wanted to see you in these letters scratched across
my notebook the way I did in your marginal notes
in books you gave me. Books you knew I'd enjoy
We always enjoyed books
No one else could discuss literature with me
for hours, but somehow we managed to
return to it consistently
We loved it
I'm pretty sure it loved us
Did we?

You've cut me off again
I am no longer allowed to contact you directly
so I wrote this poem instead
channeling you through this sharpie pen
I'll respect your wishes this time
Respect that
Respect you
Forget us
If that is what you want

It's said
Elephants can die of a broken heart
Let's not be elephants
Let's be something else
something smaller
something with less blood
less heart
let's be something solitary
that only comes together briefly
once in a lifetime
never repeating but
leaving a permanent impact
I couldn't think of what to be
so I looked it up

I'd say let's be lemmings
only I won't follow you over a cliff
or
let's be honey badgers
cause frankly
honey badger don't give a shit
Better yet, let's be armadillos
hidden behind our armor
we'll look like little grey
soccer balls
Don't kick us
we're breathing

And that's just it
we're breathing
You once were my "What if..."
Now you're my "I had you once"
And it was what I'd hoped
albeit too short and
we're still breathing

You're here (still)
And I'm sure you will be
for some time
In my mind
In my heart
In this ink
Because I wrote this poem with a sharpie pen
Fine point
Black ink
And I don't really like it
But I can see you
I always will
Despite your armadillo armor
You're here
Still
Stay a while longer
I know I will
I'm only halfway there

coffee haiku #1

drinking my coffee

too quickly often leads to

mocha-ed poetry

night time whiskings

It's evening again

Stars are kissing their way through

the clouds with ease, it seems

as though we may get one

more chance at making a wish

I wish you knew

what it feels like to

lay back and see days

whisked by 

by the current

beneath the raft

don't breathe too deeply

You'll take all the air

we must conserve what is left

for fear of

fear of losing consciousness

new world order

What if tomorrow
we all wake up to a world
ruled by...antelope?

Would this fact strike you
as odd, or would it seem to
be standard by now?

Sometimes expecting
circumstances quite stranger
than normal is such

when normality is
already blurred by unknown
numbers of smudges.

maybe we'll understand better when we are

Maybe we'll understand better when we are
older than those who have come before us
have given mind to, or when
we've decided that
ends and means were never justified
but for what lies between them

doesn't impact any less than the
two on either end of it.
Moments of clarity like the
silence between the white noise
crackles were nothing but
nothing echoes off itself

or maybe we never will.

what if...

I'd carve you an ocean.
Through the middle of the country, from the
Gulf of Mexico straight up to Tulsa, a trench
as wide as your need for the coast, to carry up
salt secrets from the bottom of the Atlantic to
your back porch.

I'd build you a porch.
The finest pine hardwood colored by deep
mahogany stain and treated against the
weathering from your new Midwest salt air.
Every morning you could sit here;
Read British lit and sip from mugs of tea or
coffee with a splash of Eire. There would be
tables. And benches. And shelves for your books.
I would build it all with these two hands.

I'd take your hand.
We could walk along our ocean, skip rocks
along the surf and reminisce. Our hands
could grow wrinkled together; our palms would
share wrinkles as we walked. Our faces, weathered
by the wind and waves of our ocean, would stand out
in Midwest crowds. People would stare confused at
our wrinkles and sunspots and we'd  just smile.

You make me smile.
Even a passing thought of you throughout the day is
visible on my face as a fleeting grin; and while no one
else may know exactly what or who is crossing my mind,
the expression tells them that it's pleasant...and uplifting...
and genuine.

But what it doesn't tell them is that away from their momentary
and unintentional company, that fleeting grin will never materialize
into something more, never be translated into words, never be
shared with your eyes.

You are my "what if?"
My "who knows?"
My "I wonder what..."
You are the one question to remain unanswered.
I'll never know what you smell like after a shower;
the touch of my fingertips against the skin along your
spine; whether or not we would fit like puzzle pieces
for the night, my knees in the backs of yours, fingers
laced, breathing synced. You're my "what if?"
What if we hadn't had so much distance for so many years?
What if I hadn't taken no for an answer?
Would fighting for you have brought you closer or
driven you further away?

My answer is no...to the questions you think but never ask
because even if the answer was yes, we could never find out
where those yeses would lead us so don't even ask them.
As the sky grows ashen and the sun sets on our ocean,
"what if" will remain and that's just fine with me, because
it is these "what if's" that inspire poetry so you're my inspiration.
And without that, I have nothing.
So remain unanswered and I'll remain inspired, and together we'll
write out our story while being free to live out our own lives.