Snow was a carpet in the front lawn.
The tree loomed in the corner, proudly
decorated with tinsel and ornaments. Piles
of springs and cushions blocked the window,
blocked the cold breath of Father. But as the snow
melted, the Earth began to wake. The tree was
removed, place aside to be set ablaze, and the
leather and tweed was moved to let Mother
in. It was always open, letting the smell
of Her warmth float onto the carpet.
Little brothers liked to invite
the rainy ground inside, let
it splatter the wood and
coat the cushions.
When the sun
shone brighter,
hotter, machines
lured the sticky air
inside, and blew a fresh,
cool, breeze into an empty room.
Dust covered the furniture while the
dominant creatures retreat elsewhere. By
the time autumn comes Mother is growing
tired, Father is growing stronger. the sofas are
moved to make room for a painting or new lamp.
Father crawls in again and the sofas are moved to make
room for the tree, to barricade against Father, just like last year.
The cycle starts again, but with a new year.

The glasses in this restaurant
are spotted with finger-oil
and when held up to the sun,
you can see a misty cloud trapped within them,
just barely holding back the intoxicating light.

The papers in this restaurant-  a collection of unpaid bills and torn menus, are painted with the sweat of the workers, wilted by the heat, and wait to be thrown to the fire.
When held up to the sun,
you can see each splatter of grease and each drizzle of spit together as Picasso's inspiration,
unyielding to the light, whispering yes to each piercing ray.

The people in this restaurant
are spotted with needle-ink
and when held up to the sun,
you can almost see a nest of organs through their papery skin,
which invite the light to seep, seep in.

But the glasses, and the papers, and the people stay, planted on the table, or the swivel chairs, or the rotten floor.  The light waits outside.

The madness of the moon
Makes everyone go insane
The mentally stable stand no chance
Only the mad can survive
Living in a collapsed hope
Wishing it would be over
But it's just the beginning

'I slept, and dreamed that life was beauty;
I woke, and found that life was duty.
Was thy dream then a shadowy lie?
Toil on, sad heart, courageously,
And thou shall find thy dream to be
A noonday light and truth to thee.'

The light which breaks at dusk through a window
The sunlight is fragmented into ripples of rainbow
They flicker and pulse, and what little do they know
They dance to remember, of once being whole

The breeze which winds at dusk from the west
Whispers cooly in the ear a rumor of a test
And as the dust is lifted and sent a million ways
Think each a separate journey, perspective falls into place

The mockingbird which sings at dusk off of a perch
Tries to find a way, with the best view on the earth
Yet she sings others’ songs for others to hear
While the story of herself falls on a forest of deaf ears

The 7 o'clock chime which rings at dusk from the basement
Interrupts from the dust, with a tone of displacement
The chimes remind, a whole seperated by the divide
For love was once here, but it won’t be for some time

Haze of cloud, light rain dropping cauls—
And nowhere is betraying sun to be seen,
Drowned streets, are pathways of shawl,
Low scapes of shun— wind caries a keen.

I just want someone to see all the potential that I don't see in myself
Believes that I'm so much more than what I really am
Someone who'd be proud to show me off
Not be embarrassed to hold my hand.

Someone to love all the flaws that I've grown to hate
to love my imperfections and make up for all that I lack
Not someone who only loves me secretly, under the covers.
Is that too much to ask?

Or do I not deserve that?

I don't need to dress up
To feel good about myself,
But I sure do like the way
Your eyes sparkle
When you look at me.

And I love your Saturn hands
the knotted slim fingers
fixed in your fawn fine hair
long 'round your fine mirror accented face
crystal blue eyes that might otherwise send someone into 10 story ocean waves
should I come too close, I'm sure I'd have more than myself to save
Your dry weathered thumb brush my flustered lips
It looks like we're now apart of the papacy
creating an obvious contrast of our opposing polarities
Something in the way that winter craves to reach this upcoming spring
Hard tailored to the rules of some domestic order
the rigidness in your loving touch
leaves the eyes of my heart wide
Can you walk into me, several times more
It wont break the ties that bind our instincts
but It'll give me tastes of what free people enjoy
Kiss me, with more than what it normally takes
we're both starving to breathe
into another
into another
Just as it rains do we lose your leather jacket
that identity we cant force ourselves to leave
Rain to our face
wettness between our smother
lavish expressons of what we hope our wild selves to explore
water to this drought
for which we suffer and for what reasons no-one spoken truely
can they say