Death sits beside me on the park bench.
Its four o'clock on some idle Tuesday.
Scythe lying on the armrest,
I hope I'm not dying today.

Love dragged me down to the river
Me: kicking, screaming curses
Love: steady hand without quiver

Love held me under the rippled surface
silent bubbles translated my biblical verses
and I questioned it's purpose

But the one thing without indecision
was me and her in unison
and I rose from my baptism

her:
thin
gangly even but, frankly, perfect
perfect skin
Eve
or a cherub at the inn
(do or don't believe)
Original
with no original sin
and therein
I saw the angel in evangelism

If you have all the egoism of a child and none of the innocence
try bringing your body back from the wild and pen it behind a fence
Instead, pen the page with your ink
-its your new sweat and blood-
Don't stop to think
let it come out in a flood
and throw in the kitchen sink
trust me. This growing bud can't get enough drink
once your words have been spoken
you may feel empty and broken,
your soul ****** up the plant's phloem
and that is when you have written a poem

love's leaves leave lovers, leaving limp, languid, limbs. Loathed. Lonely

sons die as the sun drowns on the horizon in its daily execution
love's leaves leave lovers
each unique snowflake turns the same ***** brown
spring breaks the spring step