She left
In the middle of a clear night
Saying
You have better chance
Of counting all the stars in the sky
Then me ever coming back
So I guess
I'll be counting stars
The rest of my life
Hoping if I count long enough
She might really come back

If
I gave each star a
spoonful of poetry
they could sparkle
word blossoms
down toward the earth

and when the flower-works
break through
the atmosphere
they would shatter
into nourishing
word petals
that would sizzle
into the hearts
of everyone they fell upon

then
when all the people on earth
have been poem-pierced
nothing but
truth
would leave their lips

Ahhhh

To write food in the stomach
Of every hungry child.

To spell war as peace,
Metaphorize flowers into the barrel

Of every gun on Earth.
The poet has responsibilities

Beyond those of mothers,
Of kings and presidents.

I refuse to give up hope;  
This could be a poem world.

Come on, write your worst piece
Of literature.

Even misprints may give other
Meanings to a word,

Write me a green sky, blue dirt,
Trees the colour of air.

Sometimes the best poets
Have the least to say,

So keep writing, write until your
Fingers fall asleep.

Write until you havent slept
For weeks in search of that word,

That one right word,
Then rest on a notebook pillow

And dream the world right.
Write the world right.

There is no such thing as
Wasted poetry.

Do you drown at the thought
Of finally being happy
Because its been so long
Since you've seen the world in color
Spring doesnt seem to come around anymore
Your sky is gray, gray, gray
And flat, like the curve of your mouth
And whenever you try
To play piano like you used to
The keys all sound out of tune
But you've gotten used to them
Wrong seems normal
And being happy scares you

{NR}

words:
a poets kiss

water:
to wet your
                     tongue
throat                    
               lips

tell me this:

which set of words
arranged in which way
would send me in the direction
of your heart, hands, head, just ahead?

which tone of voice...

soothes you into sleep
to awaken the greatest dreams?

or shakes you into daybreak
to my face, smiling, you inside?

which tone would I need
to hone enough of a melody that will keep you near?

and which would I need to move you closer
so that you would be right here?

What could I hear
in the deep
dark marks
of your scars?

What could I learn
as we drink
walking
talking
playing
in bars?

What more would spill
from you, if, instead of
ingesting toxins...
we just keep talking //
instead in daylight
through forests
up mountains
down river
up stream
I bet you'd beam!

I say it all as if I know you, but I honestly don't know a thing.

words: a poets kiss