Does that mean my wisdom teeth
have finally spoken to you?
They know things I don't.

Will you finally give me freedom
or do I have to search for that too?
A longer leash would be good.

Finally, growing up
in your eyes, Ma.
I hope I'm making you proud.

When I'm done losing teeth,
when I'm done growing old,
I want to be able to say
I've changed the world.

One last question, though,
Ma, will the tooth fairy come?

I feel like your lips,
and everything beneath them,
belong to me.

I feel like your fingers,
and I want to feel your fingers,
on my lips,
and everything underneath the sheets.

I want to smell like warm tea,
and taste like smooth cream,
and I want you to open my eyes
to your lucid dream.

If you want to spend your time under trees,
I get it,
and if you don't want to waste your time in the same ways,
I get it.
But if you want to hold me,
and mumble ***** secrets that I don't understand to my shoulder,
or smile so that I can feel it on my lips,
then I don't.

We can eat the same food,
and inhale the same breath,
but no matter what happens at night,
it wont matter in the morning.

Eyes
         Just
                 Don’t
                           Know.

Like
      Thought
                   Didn’t
                             Make
                                      Night
                                                Stay.
Think,
                Say.


You’re love.

wenttoastationtodaythetrainwasfull
sopleaseoneandall
pleasemindth­e gap.

lost beyond thoughts of consequence,
bouncing taxis blur the streets of my wanderings,
crowds released from roadside governance
and the stillness gauges frantic adverts splayed.
readiness surges toward academe
in the guile of non-influence;
inspiration settles into future springs
while the flutist pleas for calm;
and systems drag emotively to better corners.
friendships diverge with wiser makings worn.
in living returns the united self.
aside turgid dregs of failure’s learned balm
the written strength of former minds
bead their voices into soulful vestibules
and I crouch gayly in the tent of my desire
viewing unmet worlds swept behind,
saving other time-intended growth
for lissome moments drawing on.

My joy, myself, it is vibrant
as the wildest waters and winds;
I will dance like an energized man,
And laugh away death's carelessness
Which you have never borne, will not until the end,
To life I awaken to the sure gift, that is you,
Do you hear the cool waters flowing?
Your warm hand on my cheek, I feel the torrid air.
Breathless, beneath your living spirit's endless variety.

Has anyone ever told you your poems are treasures?
You should feel intense joy.
Who can claim to be a genius?
If they are you, they are all good.
There is no doubt, you should never give up.
Never step away from the page.
Pay attention to this kind woman,
She will never step away!