Today I saw the strangest thing--
Do you know what I saw?
It was a bird, without the wings
His song was just an awful, "Caw!"

I tried to hold it, pick it up,
But all he did was peck
I took him in, gave him a home
He left his room a wreck

He felt too good to help with the grubs
Among the plants in the garden bed
And when I offered him meals at night,
He felt too proud to let himself be fed

He couldn't fly or flap or sing
Or learn to heed man's law
But should a friendly dog look to me for a pat,
He'd let out his boisterous "Caw!"

After months of the mercy I'd felt for this creature,
I had been much more patient than most
But that morning he'd gone,
all he left was a note, and it said,
"You're a terrible host"

I think to be thoughtful
I speak to be heard
I write to decipher
The truth in my words.

I smiled to ensnare you
I laughed to secure
You slipped through the trap
That I built to procure

I kissed to consume you
I hugged to enfold
My arms close on nothing
You're no where to hold

I writhed to entrance you
I clutched you to keep*
Now the place where I hold you
Resides in my dreams.

I write so you'll read this
My hand pens the truth
All that I've written,
I've written for you.

Between the horizons
The imprisoned night,
Fallen from the grace
Of the solitary star.

Over mountain tops
With a bridal cap,
All is transparent
In the Light.

The sun moves
The living Waters
Under glittering gushes
And a sparkle as it rests.

The naked light
In mother of pearl
Glazing the morning mist
In a feast of reflection.

Like a lovers reunion,
The eyes kiss all that
Is lit as sky falls
Under shade.

The living star
In a fugitive passion
Brightens the forms,
The sun sees no light.

I know not where I shall find love
By the foots of the mountain or on the plains of clove
Where the oak trees shed their green blades on the brown grass
Perchance by the deserted road where lays the heap of trash

I know not when I shall find love
During spring when April showers bring may flowers
When wintry chilling cold bites the white earth
When the woods glow of amber in the hearth

I know not how I will find love
Through divine appointment or by strove
Whether from a recent friend or a foe of past days
May be from stranger met by labyrithine ways

I know not why I will find love
Whether possessed passions will cause me to move
To seek the friendship of some lovely lass
May be just another ritual of life to pass

Whether in known or unknown places
Whether in familiar or strange faces
Whether time is constant or flies like a dove
I one day shall find love

i need someone who will love me all the time.
not just when they're lonely & bored,
& running out of things fragile enough for them to
take over & call 'mine'.

i need someone who will love me when i'm
sickly sweet cherry cordial, and not just when i'm
drowsy red wine.
not just when i'm their cup of tea that they leave unfinished in the sink because they've stopped to cry.

i need someone who'll love me even when i am a ****,
when i am a wildflower.
not just when i'm the blooming roses, wilting from the time they accidentally knocked the watering can over.

We met at the junction of your misery,
both high-strung and molars grinding like toothache.

Maybe it was my fault
Or maybe it was your folly,
But neither you nor I were aware
that this was a swath that brought us to our disrepair.

I should've known better,
I should've handed you my resignation.
Even heaven knows you've always had a palisade mouth;
sharp edges with misspent words,
teeth kisses with minor incision.

But we were shipwrecks coalesced by force,
fate's own masterwork where devils meddled their crooked hands in the ***.

Like a time bomb awaiting to explode,
we were in for our imminent destruction.

But I had nowhere else to go.

he's black, white,
and read all over
by acquaintances in his
circumference of people.
but no one asks,
no one takes the time,
to inquire behind
the gray mix of his
black and white appearance.
perhaps he's a light blue,
or a pretty yellow
that mistakenly ran into
some gray along the way,
but no one knows
because they'd rather spend
their sunday morning judging
a black story on a white page
than exploring the vast depth
of an intricate person.