Dirt clings to the most beautiful things,
for a moment it shares the glory.
It clogs and it diminishes,
But for that moment, dirt is proud,
Because it is a part, holding to something larger.
Then the object is cleaned, purified, and purged. 
And dirt is just dirt. 
Man was made from dirt.

You make me feel like
my hands are not for
writing, typing, doing,
only for
holding, caressing, feeling.
And my arms are not for
opening, moving, driving
only for
hugging, holding, embracing.
And my legs are not for
walking, running, kicking
only for
being tangled up in yours.
And my lips are not for
eating, speaking, breathing
only for
kissing, kissing, kissing.
And my brain is not for
thinking, worrying, planning
only for
knowing that you are all I need.
And my heart is not for pumping blood
my heart is not for keeping me alive
my heart is only in my chest so that I can be in love with you
and you can be in love with me.
And the world
the universe
does not exist so that we can all play these little games with
money, land, power,
only so that we can
love, love, love
love, love, love.

i peeked into your secret

i unbottuned your sensitivity
with your own sarcasm

you blew my vietnam

my heart is a touchy speaker cable
and you sparked me up

now
i am empty beer bottles
oscillating in your hand
and then you set me down

i am your nostalgia and
you can only think of bad things
like bruised knees and gout
and that summer you
had walking pneumonia and syphilis
and you cried every night
into your mother's arms

i am the cancer you faked
in order to gain attention

i am that boy that fell for it
and gave you syphilis

i am your shaved head
on picture day in the 9th grade

i am your solitude
i am your noise
i am your virginity
being taken in the backseat of your
brother's best friend's parent's
camaro when you were 15
and more than willing

i am a clusterfuck
of metaphors
i have a broomstick
in my eye

i am a young man
hey all you young girls
let's do what we do

i am a **** up
i grabbed the pan
that burned the biscuits
my flesh is searing
your tears are cool wet milk

Death told her
           her life should end
and he was her friend

Calmly, she stole my gun
     she walked outside in the sun
pulled the trigger, set the mood
barrel to her head to conclude

I saw her head come undone
,,, Reached down, for my gun
Eyed the chunks in her hair
Now to my head |
                               |I draw a rose there.