I found god
on my front porch
and we drank vermouth
from 12:00 to 12:00.
He spoke of how
he's trying to quit
cigarettes and women.
We raised our glasses
to that one.
I spoke to him
about how much I enjoy
asking people
how they really feel.
I told him how the earth
is rotating very quickly lately,
and that the centrifugal force
is improving the circulation in
my fingertips,
and how I'm starting to be able
to feel again.
He spoke of how
he had quit his job
to pursue a career
as a ceramic artist,
though he also claimed
he had always been one.
It turns out that god
is a neighbor of sin,
cut wide open
by the hope that lives
in the hearts of people
younger than us.
I told him
that I understand.
He filled my glass up again,
and then his own.
We did not speak of women.
He lit us a cigarette
and we shared it.

I feel like god
has been misunderstood
all this time.

I think he feels
the same way.

Wisdom lives
not only
in knowing
our power,
but acknowledging
where it exists
(and flexing it)
and where
does not
(and letting it go.).

A large
and important part
of the human experience
is getting this
wrong.

I didn't really know
how I was going to feel.
I was in a room
full of things that sparkle
[champagne
streamers
firework pupils
diamond teeth
sterling saxephone
a ring
that was once hers].

Girls with castles
in their eyes,
princes in those castles
whose faces
the girls could not draw
with their minds.
Guys with hearts
in their hands,
and hands hidden
in their pockets;
maybe they'd use those
tonight for the first time
in a long time.

When the ball met the ground
and we met a new year,
lips met lips,
but mine remained mine.
I don't even know
where she is
now.

In a room full of revelry,
all I could hear
was my breath;
In.
Interval,
equanimity.
Out.

In a room
full of things that sparkle
[champagne
streamers
firework pupils
diamond teeth
sterling saxephone
a ring
that was once hers],
I found one more
[a part of me
that I forgot was there].
Spring in January.
I smiled.
And I didn't
even have to fake it.

Some of the best
of me survived
her.

I wish
I believed
in god;
that way,
I’d have
someone
to blame
and thank.

All of the factories
would shut down
when her eyes
took naps on mine.
Many moons later,
here I am;
Soot on the lips
She used to kiss.

Don't sketch me
the outline
of a broken heart.
That would be
like wearing jeans
to a funeral.
Instead,
paint me
a granite boulder
fractured
by the roots
of a cottonwood tree
that grew atop it.
Drench the rock
in golden
leaves
that the tree cried,
but leave a couple
on the nearly
naked
branches.

She asked,
"How've you been?"
He replied,
"I've been getting older."

If you want to know
what is happening
to the world,
don't just watch
the news every night;
watch what happens
to yourself
after watching
the news
every night.