Unknown musicians paying their dues
Grill smoke , multicolored blankets , children
riding seesaws , lollygagging on swings , curing my blues
Laughter and celebration ,the smell of Brunswick
stew and barbecue filling the Sunday air
A fews hours with zero cares , a sweet smile and
auburn hair , a beach towel for two , we gaze into
cobalt sky blue
Searching for angels , faces and Presidents
Feeding the nuthatches , the thrushes and the ravens
We're the hot dog and hamburger mavens , we're the connoisseurs of plum wine , brie , swiss and shortbread biscuit , sweet tea picnic table caramel corn cravings  
Holding each other tight in sleepy , piedmont sunshine
Savoring this memory forever* .

I'm supposed to run
When you harvest red roses
With scissors
But their blood was mine.
Only war paint conceals
The faded spots your lips
Have left on my smile.
You will comprehend your sickness
When I desperately  moisten
My flaking fingers with the spoils
Of your wounds.

An itch for slicing in my pulsing touch
painfully receded when I saw the red
stripes cower beneath your sleeve.

I can't breathe when my friends breathe
smoke then take shelter in my innocence, because

A thirst for anesthetic poison
sullenly diminished when I watched you lose
all shame over several brews and strip
your soul to merry strangers.

I can't breathe when my friends choke
on white dust then bask in my self-discipline, because

A wanderlust for places away from you
ruefully subsided when you anxiously inebriated
to save my waning faith in you.

I can't breathe when my friends labor
cheer then grip tightly to my tolerance, because

I do the same.

He drowns himself in cities:
Grey walls and blue lights.
Maturity, they call it, when
Blood turns brittle and eyes
Lock the soul. Warmth
Comes in bottles now.

Last cherry blossom
Falling, dancing with my gaze
A distant echo

Languid tendrils of smoke unwind
The ashes of your affliction.
There is comfort in the sun's underbelly.
When you play half-lidded pool drenched in
Artificial lights, the night seems endless.
Once dusk falls, the world outside scatters
And settles together in close quarters
Like bunkers under air raid.

Oh my kind grandpa
I've drawn your eyes on the tall
branches of the trees


پدربزرگ مهربانم
من روی درخت هایی که شاخه هاشان بلند بود
چشم های شما را نقاشی کشیدم

Your ******* are eyes
I will try to mind manners

Where I'm from
Eye contact is considered
Very good manners