"Where words, thoughts, opinions, equations, and poetry collide to become artful expressions…"
Let’s chase the moon,
upside-down
and through
the layers,
letting fate
decide what
to
do with our
hands, letting
them
dance like the
sun
does after
she’s
figured out the
necessary
steps
in waking us up.
Let’s
chase the moon,
and
decide where our
feet touch,
allowing the sandy
pieces
to
assemble like ants
do
after a great
feast.
We’re here,
figuring all
of this
out,
and when the moon
has
slowed down,
let’s
bring her into
our
proximity
like the Gods
do
before an afternoon
rain
shower.
M.C. Davis
In all of the wisdom
that
saunters
in
between
the
semicolons,
and
the
layers
of words that describe
us,
I get stuck
reading the
lines
where
the poet
forgets
he
has an
audience. I get
lost
in the characters
that
dance
like a summer breeze
does
after
a quick
dampening.
See,
we’re much
better
that we think,
so
let all
these poets
linger in the space
in
between
the in
betweens.
We’re
just getting started.
M.C. Davis
I’ll be there,
just like you asked,
with love
on
the brain,
and with you
settled in my heart.
I’ll be there,
and without the chaos
of
dust
too busy to settle,
or a
sun too
prideful to
shut
everything down.
See,
I’ll be there
because my need
to
be with you
shifts
and permits me no
latitude
to
simply
be
here
without you.
M.C. Davis
Last year
we
danced like
no one
watched,
then
decided to fill
the
void
by singing
when the moment
focused
away
from
us.
We’re destined
for
greatness
you said,
stretching
our morning routine
to
a
new routine,
like
the time we
didn’t
forget what
brought us
here
in
the first
place,
and
just sat without
speaking
one
word.
M.C. Davis
This year,
solemn and weary,
the days
deter from
deciding quickly to
become
the things we
want
them to be.
They
linger,
and force
us
to watch
in disbelief
in
their ability to love
without
knowing
all
of
the facts.
See,
if only
for one night,
we
can
become like the
solemn
days,
then we’ll
just be right
where
we
belong.
M.C. Davis
An afternoon
just gave
way
to a quiet
evening, nestled
in
between
a few
jazz notes,
that
have
decided
to
linger around
like
an
indecisive
autumn
fall
leaf.
Our afternoon
just
landed in
our
laps,
and we get to
dictate
to
the
sun how she
plans
to
groove
into
the sky.
She delicate
that
way.
See,
this afternoon
just
got better,
and
we got
better
just
by
standing
in
the way.
M.C. Davis
We’re
latching on,
tightly
like vice grips
too
weak
to
let go,
and
as our moment
shifts
to and fro,
I’m
more infamous
than yesterday
because
I get
to
latch on to
your
hips,
as
they sway back
and
forth
like wind turbines
feeling
the
temptress
of
the wind’s
fingertips.
See,
we get to
seriously
latch
on,
and the
worries that drift
will
need
to hold in
space
while
we
find our
place
inside of these
messy
sheets.
M.C. Davis
