my favorite color is green.
not just any green,
but the green that is almost dark as midnight.
green that when you look at it,
smells like damp moss and fairy magic
green that seduces you with its richness,
feeling like the rush after a decadent sweet.

my favorite place to be is the bus stop down the street.
i like to go in the early morning,
or right after dusk falls.
watching the cars go by
is a long-sought-after peace
that keeps my soul intact.

i can't tolerate onions
in any amount.
only when cooked slowly, sweetly with love
by the fire of my father's laugh,
will i endure the sharpness of the plant,
if only to see the joy on his face.

i love the rain
my favorite band is the velvet underground
i get nervous on airplanes
i'm still afraid for my mother
my favorite memory is of my first bike
i wish slow walkers were made illegal

you see? i can open up.
i am communicating
finally
at last
i am communicating
why is it not enough
now or ever

people in their wholeness
can only be understood.

not explained.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

The sun is loathe to rise.
Beige, bored,
morning crutches
to some kind of
vertical birth.
Your rain plinth
glissandos don't
quite make it here;
I get cerulean void.
When the sun
finally coughs up
a gray beam
over the bellies
of tenements,
I've moved on,
to the seethe
of your notice.

a boy with seven hearts

they gave him seven hearts
the first for dreaming
the second for running
the third for crawling
the fourth for laughing
the fifth for crying
the sixth for loving
the seventh for fighting

in each heart waged a war
the sound of blowing horns not very far
in each heart grew a tree
taller than the depth of the sea

in one boy sang seven hearts
they sang a song that lasted til night
a song that took away all the fright
the fear that spun around like a kite

in two hands he grasped one heart and asked
“what do you do?”
it said “i fight for one important thing
and, boy, that thing is you.”

in one palm he held a small heart and whispered
“what can you do?”
the heart replied, “i may be small but my dreams are big
and that’s what makes me you.”

each heart was crafted differently
each one had a unique design
but together they were stronger
and together they could shine