one of my friends is adored by everyone he knows
the kind of kid who smiles all the time
who can always make anyone laugh
always has something motivational and upbeat to say or sing

once we were sitting in English class
talking about change
and it was quiet between us for a minute
so I said
watching people die is hard
and he said
yeah, it is

and I didn't tell him about my grandfather
who had cancer and died in my house a week later
or my grandmother
who lost her mind eight years ago and slowly deteriorates each day
or my aunt
who had her first open-heart surgery when she was fifteen
and is now a bloated skeleton who lingers in wheelchairs
and doesn't sleep and hallucinates
or my second cousin
who only knows all the "wrong" sorts of people
or my friend
who is breaking slowly, who I cannot fix

I didn't tell him because I'd never heard three simple words like that
overflowing with so much empathy

I've seen your hand held murderess
Making note of its cool, sleek body,
Twisting and turning
Around your fingers,
Leech like.

Producing when in need of reassurance,
Its silent but deadly
At the best of times.

A strange puppet it does form;
For my entertainment
Or yours?

I wait, dumb, for the sudden ****,
I'll wait
But eventually she'll slip
From your drenched palm.

When they stripped me of the life in my bones
I looked to the stars,
and plucked the moon from its perch
with my lips.
And the rage in their fists
tried to pry it from my skull.
But they cannot win.
They may look down on us with their
hollow eyes that can do nothing but weep,
and their hungry mouths that spit ash.
But I know what hope is.
And They don't.
No matter how many times I am beaten
I swear that the birds that sing in my chest
will always be louder than them.
Tell me what holy is,
and I will tell you of the love in my veins.
Tell me why you hate so much,
and I will tear it apart with my shame.
I will split the night open with my words.
I will sweep up the ashes with my rage.
They cannot win.
Not when your eyes look through me like that.
And while you sew together my wings,
tell me of the love letters that God left
on your windowsill.
Tell me of the fists that left those scars.
When they finally bring me to the gallows,
make sure that the noose is made
from the strings of guitars.
Carve my spine into the heart of a tree.
Spread my ashes over the lips of the sea.
Tell me what holy is.
And I will take you to that river full of sin.
I will write my poetry in the snow with my bones.
Tell me where Gabriel is.
And I will clean the blood from his crippled wings.
I will be an immovable sky.
The mouth of the river that never ceases to sing.
They'll separate us with razor wire,
but a few cuts won't hold me back.
They'll scream at us with their empty taboos.
But the paintings I've got tattooed on my ribs
aren't black and white like their words.
I'm done hiding my heartbeat.
I want to taste the words that come off my tongue,
to paint with the dirt beneath my nails.
Say my obituary was written like a poem.
So that when God greets me at his gates,
he will tell me that I was alive.
That I wasn't empty like Them.
But I'm tired.
And I've walked one too many miles in my
own shoes.
But it's impossible to stop,
when you've got wings flapping in your chest,
and a heart that burns like a lantern.
Remember me like this.
Spouting words from the darkest corners
of my soul.
Words that stick to you like a lover's kiss.
It's a song.
A manifesto.
An epitaph that will stay burned in your eyes
until you blink away the tears.
I'll keep walking if you just carry me
on your back for a few short steps.
A couple of shallow breaths.
Just let me rest.
So that the next words that come out of
my mouth will be “I love you”.
And you'll see that the bruises on my back
are the notes of music.
Tell me what holy is.
So I can tell you why I keep moving.
So I can spread these wings you've built for me,
with the skin I've shed
and my broken bones.
And I'll teach you how to fly too.
Because life has no rhythm
unless you give it a beat.
Tell me what holy is.
And remember
that we
are not.

I want to see the thoughts
you breathe,
hear your words and collect them,
cradled in your honesty.
I could watch the beauty in your eyes
for eternity
without ever wishing
to walk away.  

You give me your hand
and I close my eyes,
hear the whisper of the sea
and I remember how my heart
has searched for one
such as you
knowing I have found my home.

My love,
the world could dance
on the shells of their falsehood
with words
written in beautiful calligraphy
and your words
would continue to run in my veins
like Morse code
tapping out who I am
to me.

You fill my hope chest with your spirit
lifting my head
from the table of where my mind wanders
when I forget
to stop and smell the roses along the way.
Your words
bring precious harmony
into play.

I look through the window of my heart
where you
have pressed your lips
on a photograph of your words
and I feel you as soft touches
on my soul.
 I collect them one by one
to remember,
until you again I hold.

No home, no front door to unlock,
a life of roams, tires burning rock.
With powders, pills, and subpar poisons,
I remember your childish face,
the reddish furl of your hair;
your spine-tingling body strut cascading into French heels.
No luck, no fat genie or 7 on the die,
rainy bucks, broken umbrella with sigh.
Like songbirds, sirens, and symptoms
gracefully disappear without a note of gloom,
your smile, the original resurrection,
slides from tangible memory -- into mythos -- into misery.

this old year in its last hours
checks its tie
its coat tails
its long trousers
spats
its insalubrious look
gets ready for one last stand
at the times square of our minds

sick in singapore she wrote
i rather be caned that live one more day
and i concurred i rather she'd be caned
than i
here in ohio i hear some winter birds
i swear and i attest
their forlorn cries carry far
and sometimes i believe i see their shapes
remotely flitting far
their cries carry far
here in ohio
where the winter snow came and went in two whole days
its surprising whereabouts both seen and felt
now we are back to flimsy silver lace affixed on
windows

infirm in beijing she said
they all spit!
i took that as a sign she was getting well
here in the post soltice winter there is hope
for longer days ahoy
the maritime soul departs in yet another lost boat
inexplicably tied to the date

sick in mazatlan she said the water makes me puke
i heard later she bought a boat to sail from the west coast
down to the panama canal then up the east coast to new yor
k
that was her plan
but no she gave it up after she bought the boat
she realized she would have to fill it with ***** and nothing
else
choice give up the ship or sink under the influence
i hear the "Rosa Linda" i still tied in long beach pier

I mourn such passing as the days
disclose and hide in a foggy patina of misremembrance
see this was her coat her gloves
the angle of her visor gave us more of her
than i can just now tell i cant even remember the color
of her eyes
and yet firmly believe that we once met

as i get ready to welcome a new year
back to the chalk line
on your marks
ready
set
go to my habitual everyday

here in ohio some winter birds
pester the air with their calls

perhaps they know something about time
I don't know

anyway, let's go meet another minute hour or day

sick  in
ohio i say

days like these I wish to fashion the sun into a dress and wear it
tuck my eyes under the water and breathe,
I can pretend to do these things
I hold the trees in my palms and watch my skin turn into leaves
I am the dirt and I am more than clean
I am black
I am white
I am red
I am wise
and I am green

mislead and content
driven, far fetched, and bent
I remember that night when whatever we had left, we spent
but it didn't matter that we didn't have money to go out
because we went out to the woods and we set up our tent
we forgot about our superficial laments and immersed in natures scent

I don't need the buildings or the cement
**** the bills and **** the rent
and **** all that technology that they continuously invent
it makes us forget what we are

I would like to find ears who will listen to me as I vent
about a catastrophic race who has forgotten its blood
who don't let their children go out and play in the mud
who see no beauty in the flowers bud
children who have been completely devoured
by this consuming technological flood

I close my eyes and I hear nature whisper its calm lines to me
she tells me that she is sad and that more of us should rise to find
a solution to this anarchy
that by the day, lives that live within her are becoming endangered species
the dieing trees next to me nod their heads and agree

she reminds me of the starving children
the dieing men
and the tortured women
my hands feel more empty than before
as I feel helpless

but she said, we can all do one thing
love true life, find its answers and upon finding these answers the
world herself becomes a better place
and  unlike anything else that is ageless
she screams love, accept, and appreciate every race
every religion and try to see the innocence in every face
reach out humankind, hands together tangled in a embrace
smile and throw your hands into your universes infinite space
and remember that it is not a specific country
but the earth itself that is your birthplace

remember that it is not only the offspring of your mother and father
but every human is a brother or a sister
realize the horrible truths of our society, open your minds up
and learn how to accept and be braver
only by accepting these things that seep between government lines
can we manifest energies that will expose them
so that more people believe
so that more people rise
and more people see
I dare you, to not be deceived; life says
cause ignorance sleeps in bliss
and though this truth may make you grieve
my child it is better to be wise
then to be
naive

so come with me, life says; take my hand
don't pack your bags
spread your wings and fly to the true homeland
swim in my oceans naked and dig your body into my sand
feel your heart sing
and your soul expand
now you are truly bathing

time comes slower now when it comes to aging
and here people take pride in their wrinkles and gray hair
in their creases they hold many years of happiness and despair
wisdom, and many moments simply loving the raging air
words and silence become one
remember always that the most beautiful things are wordless
and this life is full of scriptures that you cannot see
but that you can feel with every pore on your body
your third eye has opened and your 6th sense has finally came to be
now intuitive, you see beyond what we knew to be beauty
let go of that hardship I beg you
let go of that worry
let go of the angry
let go of that army
dust off that ashy debris

and come into this world gently and calmly

.

Birds are things unconvinced,
They fly because they fall -
Because they've tasted the sea

They rise, rise like persistent weeds
Pushing through cracks in the clouds,
And I wonder what they wonder.

I would be a bird, but flight leads to fall,
Just give me the wings,
That's all.