If you want to hear a secret
life isn't quite identical
anymore
the past is very long gone
today is an adventure
it's bizarre
waking up with rug burns
not certain what went where
and it's ok
if one person is a disappointment
leaves you hanging
and you feel unwanted
because many others can't even fathom this mentality
wouldn't comprehend
and yet
the ones you trust
want to believe in
can be irresponsible
and thus
life is strange
and it has no pattern quite yet
that isn't one hundred percent perfect

so in ancient Rome
Caelius bumps into
his friend in the streets
and he says:
“Hey, Domitius
I thought you were dead”

Domitius laughs and he says:
“Well, you can see I’m alive”

“Yes,” says Caelius, *“but you must be dead
for I had the information
from someone more reliable than you”

And It was like there was a fire in the underbelly of my heart, that I  had waited so long for. On the winding path that I constantly found myself lost in, I had found a reason. I had been lingering, hoping for some sort of inspiration, something to believe in, a map, a key. The uncertainty and curiosity that I tended to find myself tangled in, became my muse. Although I grasp tightly on to my reason, I doubt it will last long. I am known for losing things.

Part 1
"How about some long beautiful hair" the Santa says
The little girl rubs her head bald and veiny
She looks like a baseball

"No. It doesn't get in my eyes anymore when I play basketball" she says

The bunch of us
Sunken eyed and balding
In wheelchairs and on crutches
Some of us holding our I.V. stands for support

I can only imagine how the Santa feels
The tiniest zombies
All waiting for a turn

Me
I have silver caps on my top front teeth
And dentures
Look like an old Cadillac
Insides all rust and rumble

We all want to know if we were good this year

Part 2
Cut to the bunch of us
Watching the Blue Angels air show

All getting pictures with a man dressed as Shamu
He is supposed to write something on the backs of all the pictures

I try to imagine
What you could possibly write
To a group of kids that looked like us

Each photo
In shaky black ink
Because whales aren’t prehensile

He writes
I love you

Part3
When the circus came to the hospital
We all gathered on a balcony
The news was there

Clowns painted our faces

I asked if they had room for me
Told them I could be like that guy
From the 007 movies
With the silver teeth that could bite really big stuff

They said I might miss my folks
I told them I wouldn’t
Then took off my gown
To show them my scars

They weren’t impressed

Ever since I’ve wanted to join the circus

Part 4
Despite our qualifications
We could not join the circus

But that is okay
All we wanted really
Was to know if we were good
And that somebody loved us

We were
And somebody did

now, ladies and gentlemen,
as you can plainly see
I am quite adroit and learned
and this lady quite occupied
I am, let me make it clear,
extremely preoccupied
keeping this lady warm and happy
as she in her turn does ditto for me
Now whether we please ourselves missionary
or front to front
is really no business of yours -
but it’s purely and ****** our business and pleasure
So, most lovely ladies and resourceful gentlemen
you must find yourself a different room each
and leave me to fiddle or ****** as I wish
O shame on you ladies -
do you not lure your men
far enough into your depths?
O shame on you men -
do you not come hard enough on your women?
go you now and find each a body
and go spiritual, ****** or *****
have no guilt, enjoy abandon
love as you wish -
but really, you busybodies,
it’s time for you to relinquish pretense of  surprise
and depart from here, and  
leave one body busy with the other

I became aware of my legs
At an insomniac’s pace.
Of how far they stretch and where they strain
My right ankle snaps, like marbles on string.

Walking faster through slush branches,
I slip between pine trees, get up and run.

Towers of ****** forms bulge from rot,
Soaked sludge mounds, like snot.
Jutting out from under are hard slippery shapes.

Cold ****** figures lurch similarly in the dark.

I want breath to roll over me.
Warmly with dirt that stings.

Fingers pull to reach a pebble studded scalp.
Scrape to move, hope for it’s help to grip a rigid mouth.

Getting on top, I roll onto relief.
Where the wind skims like nails of a touch.
Exhaling into sheets of fog, I let lids fall and drift into myself.