the power was never ours
(we stole it from the neighbors).
we took our war bonds and
food stamps
and gathered the family together
toward the bus.
once boraded we took roll.
make sure no one got left behind
waiting there
(lost and slow to tie their shoe or...)
later at the diner, i watched you break the bread.
it was so beautiful
in a sad, empathetic sort of way.
you passed around the broken basket
to the end of the table
and back again.
i didn't want to take my piece.
i wanted you to have two; one for your hunger
and one for your beauty.

you could see that it meant a lot to me.
you insisted i eat.

later, at the ice rink, i told you what was on my mind.
there were no words to pardon your reaction--
or even do it justice--
and i knew that it was good.

you invited me in from the cold
for some warm milk.

toeing the line so delicately
its forbidden fruit

yr shirt around my shoulders
and we're walking along the train tracks

your golden skin glowing in the haze
of summer storms come and gone

brush yr hand along my jaw
we're missing but we're almost found

and i'm just crying out, "love me!"
but you already do

"kiss me!" but you already have
and the sparrow sets its wing

and a suburban summer dream
is just beginning

instead of leaving
you could find yourself broken
like an artist who's trying his best to fly
(i'm not always ascending
but sometimes i'm smart enough to try)
for the greatest pain of living
could be the smartest pain to come by

you could find yourself living inside of a dream
cos heartache is healthier than it seems
you are a derailed train
and i am the mystery of the
pain that's listening to every move you make

that turns into bearing an almost child
broken at it's wake.

there's a fine line
between this hate
& this regret

that fine line
travels to this sin
& the mess
we were in,

& placing this
distance
between us &
the stars is
kind enough.

nefarious nested newfound
minds gather in dim-lit bedroom
shining with love.
taking seconds from an
extended time frame.

what eludes to harm done
comes from adultration
of a vision - friendship.
it's been said, no loyalty with
dope fiend drugdrugsdrug addicts.

when under the greensmoke
light of a cracked window
and wheezing-- OH the wheezing--
of youth taking
extra time to become
tomorrow's electronic future.

it's gonna be different
than yester-year, dear.
20% of our feeble country
engages indulges
in this ancient sacredity

&as; for you, my dear ones,
sitting in the dark,
jeopardy, saw IV, daft's
harderbetterfasterstronger
--"i've never seen so many colours!"
my heart calls as yours does,
for a future we're waking up to.

we're not violent vicious vile
backstabbing cold-mongers.
if anything,
laughing at them.
quoting movies, queueing memories.
preparing for world dissolution.


i hate the bane too, kids, but we
know who we are.

bonetender night, polaric.
windswept crown atones
weeping wanderer.
rigid matriarch condones
tantrum medication. vast
control shapes diminished conscience,
actuating frustration;
migrane pulse doctorate.
sad shell housing beaten wails,
a closed eye, ear to brains.
steady now, absorb sultry stance.
dim lamp set on autonomic fade.

perhaps
if i made myself
scarce, scared
sacred--
i'll become
wanted
uninhibitedly.
i already am.

a look of entendre at
intelligence,
perhaps deeper than
my own [but mountains
are enormous]-
those giant eyes
i only wish were on me
always but only with
love always

a look of anger, admittedly,
but only for a second-
think i saw
you slow down as i focused
on the floor, your speech imposed-
my glance, again- of sadness,
now,
for he who i'm so scared
to love
gives me another tiny fright.

neither of us broke even
we both walked out with
pockets extracted from pants
validated parking,
painfully pounding out a new
way home.
our past, unchangeable.
mistakes are made.

i know i know I AM.
i AM- or at least i
feel like i am-
realizing when the ***
is too hot, when to
take my hand off,
when to use a ***
holder.
lately though i don't
feel like i can crack
an egg on your edge
let alone cook a meal
without you burning me.

a fan quickly sweeping
the trapped air of
breakfast nook, spite &
malice. reduced to what
holds my interest,
that which i am guilted
for most.

a hand held is a hand held
not held to a handheld
- a hand that won't let go
but its hard to love
when- almost to the
point of thinking- you're
looking up to what's looking
down at you.