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I visualize you
who I will never know,
Constant Stranger
I call you, I imagine
you when I write
and to think, you
will never know me
like the few who
I am close to, those
who say: I don't
understand what you
are talking about,
but I know what you
mean...you know
there is no other poet
on earth like me
and I know there is
no other poem in the uni-
verse just like you
and every two folks
have there own way
of loving, the poet
and the poem know
what they like, like
the kind that takes us
into different and strange
countries until we realize
at midnight, we are alone,
you and I, Constant Stranger,
anonymous mates whose love
can never be consummated.
This poem speaks of love between the poet and the poem not yet written, but wanted in the way we find ourselves wanting that anonymous, perfect lover somewhere out there in the uni-
verse.  Or something like that.  You may not understand what I'm saying, but I hope you know what I mean, Constant Strangers, poets and poems all, friends in our uni-verse, write me that perfect pome.
When I was thirteen
and still seeing daylight
between my ****** feet
I went to spend the night
with my best friend;
we watched Gunsmoke
on the TV and raided
the refrigerator;
I remember his sister
coming home later
and leaving a crack
in her door and taking
off her clothes before
turning the radio
of my childhood on
leaving it playing
all the hot night long
and I sill hum every one
of those sweet songs.
a foe's
fear fraught
that quilted
alight when
jay shed
her feather
here then
darkened delight
this may
tore where
a patch
was the
crocus but
wilted this
spring with
hallelujah she
direly met
A Patchwork Dream
when the moon was
red
The ocean luminescent
she was a starry
eyed girl
with a northern star
and a direction to go

Epiphanies unfold
like ribbons in
the winds

Decisions
they come
in wishful
longing
or
careful planning

Throwing caution to the wind
she took the first boat to
the island.

There he waited, an
apprentice to an ancient art
Preoccupied and isolated

She of the northern
star
had a sense of
direction

Settling into a
parallel universe

They were like
two kiwi bushes
across a fence
3 years later in
vined embrace
Produced the fruit
that never ripened
and over night
was gone.

She took the
last boat back
the northern star was
encased in fog
But
the southern cross
She couldn't miss it.
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