i swear
i tried to catch the sun,
collided with icarus
on the way
he said, “hey,
where are you going?”
and fell
before i could tell him.

i said
“icarus,
there is a terrible
beauty to this world.“
i said
“icarus,
i want it all
to burn.”

and he burned,
crashed into the waves,
his flames flickered
and died.

i swear
i tried to catch the sun
before he did
but he stole it in his wings,
betrayed the sky
for a light
brighter than his own,
he was a shooting star
that i couldn’t swallow.

i said
“hey,
where are you going?”
he told me to make a wish
and fell.

i swear
i tried to catch the sun,
collided with him
on the way.

i said
“icarus,
my world is beautiful,
but terrible.”
i said,
“icarus,
i want it all
to burn.”

our wings melted,
and as the sky rained wax,
we burned.

We strolled to a halt in our own space.
We seven, spanned the open pre-dawn park
Prepared in dew.
We gazed up and east with wingless chirps

To where the rustling is neither wind
Nor the highest leaves blowing, but
The laughter of two hours prior--
The bubbling of water and endings--

As it takes my greatest sin to realize
That life is what it is.
We could lie in the grass but
Our taut necks mean/give more

And if we stay long enough,
Stare long enough
Into the faded blue-gold world yet to rise,
Maybe our eyes will never close

And with them our steps
****** forward and away

We stand with a city
on our separate porches celebrating
neon-lighted rituals and candles.
A summer night is sweeping,
seductively relentless.
We celebrate stolen yard lamps,
midnight chases.

When the world becomes profound
for a moment...
nothing to do but sit...
watch.

And perfection won't present itself
too often...
it's the feeling after the fact that remains,
the French smoke a feeling,
the shadow by your side a feeling.
A day's inspiration, once inspired, never fades.

Do you see that...over there...?
Milk legs holding hands, pigeon toed ***,
taboo *** and constructioners pounding spikes.
It’s as if...the leaves know where to blow...
It’s as if...the leaves crawl...and crawl...
Do we all see the wind blow the pages of poems the same?

Follow this poem as it escapes my lips, smoke from a swisher.  Follow before it disappears, slithers away into thin silky threads.  Follow the mass, the transparent cloud.  It’ll take you somewhere far from here, far from what you deemed necessary long ago, the pointless **** that drives your wandering mind, the pit opening up again within and underneath and above you, crushing you, making you less of what you are, less of your baser self.  Follow this poem as it coincides with the wings of bats beating above your shallow head.  Follow their darkness as they hide in barn nooks.  Let them graze the tips of your dried draught grass hair, carry you away, and dissipate with the smoke.

I have never walked this path alone
at this time of night.  Midnight.
Exactly how it should be.
The uneven slabs of stone catching me off guard.  
Squares of brick, red and gray and littered with autumn leaves.
Bike wheels glued to the Earth,
progressing with grace and ease
and hair flowing one strand at a time
in the breeze.
Buildings with staircases that lead
to towers of finite knowledge, but the top floor is
silent,
Save for the voices behind me, beyond
the jungle of bare trees and lawns of fallen death.
Fear death from above.

I will never understand why they talk
so loudly.  No intonation, no change in pitch.
Only a deafening roar of a hundred voices 
speaking out against the same Earth.
For they say that human nature lies outside the self.

There are columns that hold up the educated,
mad at work.  The lights are not bright,
but it’s enough yellow-orange to understand
where you are situated in this world.
“Let us both take the obscure route, for we are both obscure.
But he says we’re all nice!  All of us our nice!
He judges by the level of obscurity,
so it’s a good thing that we are both obscure.”

They wear the smallest shirts with the smallest sleeves and the smallest pants
and they witness the landscape before them.