Perhaps to love is to learn
to walk through this world.
To learn to be silent
like the oak and the linden of the fable.
To learn to see.
Your glance scattered seeds.
It planted a tree.
     I talk
because you shake its leaves.

Allowing ourselves
to be tangled together
could keep us both warm
in the coldest of weather

Our arms engaging
and our fingers entwined
my hand in your hair
and your smile on my mind

With our lips crossed
and the way I've persisted
I hope you won't mind
if my tongue's a bit twisted

But being twisted with you
is a whole other beat
so lets get tangled up
put our song on repeat

So lets let ourselves
get tangled together
and let my arms be
the most gentle tether

to keep you as close
as you'd like to be
but just out of reach
is too far for me

One of those meant to be free
They say if you follow her when she wonders you’ll find her talking to trees

She’s one of those mysterious souls, always lost inside herself
Contemplating matters of existence, dreaming of metaphysical wealth

A place of paradise, where all is free of pain
A space that flourishes with the manically insane
A collection of minds feeding off debauchery
A gathering of souls to rebel the hypocrisy  

Armed with a mind full of soldiers, ready to win this war of expression
She knows it’s up to her to lead free the life she’s destined

Cinnamon warmed cheeks
against an ivory pillow.

Your hand poised above hollowed hips
where light breaks to black,
folds itself into your mouth,
and eats away your sweetened breath.

I waited all day for you
and then I waited all night
it was worth the wait
you made everything all right

before you came along
the words didn't come easy to me
and now I see you in everything
the world became my dictionary
wistful beauty
graceful humility

you have a way of moving
the things around you seem to fade
I could see you coming from miles away
just from the way the earth shakes
the way the air trembles
from the electricity you make

but you don't know it
you can't see
everything that you do to me
you walk around like a greasy fingered kid
leaving your mark wherever you've been

my heart is a crime scene
you are the evidence

I used to be lost
and now I just wander
where are you?
I'm coming my dear
don't you know?
I am always on my way
if I am not already here

the scared lost child has grown
turned into a wanderer
with no place to go

and there's nothing left for me to do
but search the skies for signs of you

will you be my home?
will you be my warm place to sleep?
will you be the roof over my head?
will you be the shoes on my feet?

even a nomad must lay down roots
all I can ask for is the truth
just please
don't forget me
let me take up residence inside your mind
a place I belong will finally be mine
a lost little child grown
a wanderer who now has a home

my aunt,
my beautiful aunt,
my hippie aunt.

the one who gave me a jar of sand and shells and whispered, "don't ever open it, or else the whole sea will spill out".

my aunt who smokes joints and offers it to the birds.
the one who sings on mountain tops, and tells me about her trips.
"i could hear my skin cells whisping past one another",
'parmel gantry they said, parmel gantry i echoed'.

the one who told me her whole existence is based on the fact that a furniture truck delivered a sofa to the wrong house.

my aunt who said when her daughter was young,
14 maybe, she would sneak off and see maryjane.

she said she was on her way to Woodstock,
but her brother, her brother was a cop in new york,
and he 'kidnapped' her,
told her "no, the closest you'll get to those ***** hippies is through this television in the attic."

"but he made me dinner every night, it was wonderful" she said,
"i hadn't seen him in years, we really bonded."

"i had a scholarship to upenn, he didn't want me to lose it"
but she dropped out one week in and moved to oregon.

she married on a commune, and her housemates threw rose petals on the only bed there.

and when that was over, she married another by the same name.

and i've never seen someone laugh so much.
i've never seen someone so happy, so genuinely happy.

A young spring-tender girl
combed her joyous hair
'You are very ugly' said the mirror.
But,
on her lips hung
a smile of dove-secret loveliness,
for only that morning had not
the blind boy said,
'You are beautiful'?

She's on my shoulders, her chin snug
on my crown; her hands;
little-strong, clasp
my neck.

My man's fingers & thumbs circle
the glass bones of her ankles.

I am her daddy. Hers.

I imagine the feel of me through
her feelings. She chuckles
at the roughness of my whiskers. I'm the stuff,
in this moment, of her childhood

memories to come: The faint
crispness in the beginning-distance
of her life. These are the days
before her brother will be born.
He is due in August.

These are my last days of this particular

closeness with her. Quickly a glisten

in the corner of my eye builds
to clear silvery wobbles, suddenly pigeons
clap up from the corn, the smooth
heavy-blue sky sheets
electric-flash, her hands cling

a little harder as the dark
clouds rumble.
My cheeks itch with trickles.

As the storm hovers above her she says
with her small-voice clarity -

'Daddy, I won’t cry.'

often it is the only
thing
between you and
impossibility.
no drink,
no woman's love,
no wealth
can
match it.
nothing can save
you
except
writing.
it keeps the walls
from
failing.
the hordes from
closing in.
it blasts the
darkness.
writing is the
ultimate
psychiatrist,
the kindliest
god of all the
gods.
writing stalks
death.
it knows no
quit.
and writing
laughs
at itself,
at pain.
it is the last
expectation,
the last
explanation.
that's
what it
is.
from blank gun silencer - 1991