i drove through the Lincoln Tunnel
once with severe passenger anxiety
over bright red lights
in an enclosed, underwater passage
once driving with excitement
and wonderment like a video game
i want to do it again
i drove over a bridge
manhattan in full view
to the east
New Jersey isn’t as exciting
sometimes with lines,
other times without
cars picking paths
in an endless flow
to get somewhere
driving in New York City
is not as scary
as i thought it would be
you feel what you feel
you think what you think
you love who you love
sometimes there’s no logic
sometimes there’s no reason
sometimes there’s no resistance
the more you fight it
the more true it becomes
an open heart is a good heart
a closed one is a scared one
a warm heart is an open heart
a cold heart is a closed one
a heart that’s been shattered
may be hard to reopen
but once it’s open again
it’s easier for it to stay open
pain may cut into your heart
but the hurt can be healed
a young heart is brave
an old heart wise
any heart can adventure
if it dares to open just a little
and somewhere in between
a heart beats on
feeling snowflakes sting on cheeks
a dark expanse of sky flies past
sending them all in a flurry
catch one on your tongue
a fleck of cold gone too fast
and a moment too fleeting
even to grasp
a pitcher has a unique position
the ability to control how the ball travels
the speed, the curve, a knuckle or none
the catcher gives the cue as to what might be best
ready at the mound
hand behind my back
waiting for the number, the cue
was that a one or a two
pull the ball up into my mitt
preparing to throw the arc
i release it, rolling through my fingertips
a launch into the unknown
hoping for a certain outcome
trusting the catcher to be there
but the bat strikes, loud and hard
sending it soaring past third base
leaving me hanging midair
for what I don’t suspect… a foul ball
a hit, but a strike nonetheless
was it a misunderstood hint from the catcher
or did I trust him too much with my ball
now the ball is out
and I’m caught midair
The pier is always the same.
Resting on the beach, allowing the waves
to roll in underneath.
Every day it sees people gather in masses.
Every day it feels many footsteps.
Every day it hears much laughter and joy.
Every day providing a getaway,
letting those from all walks of life
walk across its timeless wooden slats.
But she is hardly ever the same.
Hair up, hair down, hair messy, hair prim–
never the same accessory.
Some days she looks at the waves.
Some days she arrives with friends.
Some days she tries to escape from the city.
Some days she’ll people watch,
letting her mind wander to their own stories
since she’s barely sure of her own.
But there is one thing that is constant—
her hope, her faith.
her love for the breeze about her face.
Today she looks up just waiting for the stars
to light up her sometimes dark night,
to remind her that her constant is always there.
found a key left lying behind
i wonder what it unlocks
perhaps a busted down car,
a home with a vast backyard,
the smallest of mailboxes,
or possibly the most evasive heart
but there’s no one around
someone left it sitting
with no prospect of returning
silver turned to copper
the weight of full disclosure
waiting just behind the ridges
now if i could find the lock
or even the one who left it behind
to learn what it unleashes