You may not be able
to see the first signs of fall because
it shows up the same way
as love does
you feel it first
Over night suddenly everything
is somehow,
Different
As if Mother Nature and us
are connected
we are find ourselves changing
with the seasons
And as the nights grow
colder
the happier I will feel

This is my street
An old street,
In an old Irish town
The people come
And then they go
In the soft rain
Of a short Irish summer

When the mood is on me
I let my feet walk
And they always
Seem to bring me here
The cafe at the end of the street
And sure,
Where else would they go?

Many is a time
I had a hearty steak sandwich
Or fishcakes with potatos
Or just a coffee and scuffin
To beat the cold outside
And it's many the friend
I found in there
Aye, and lovers too.

It's face is green and black
Milanese style
So the owners tell me
With a striped green and white awning
And simple tables and chairs
And all the love in the world

Music has been had there
And poetry, and just craic
Long Scrabble saturdays
Taken very seriously
We even bought the dictionary
To stop the heated
Word exchanges

So I know most of the people
There is always a smile
Headed in my direction
When I am blue
It brings me to life
Somewhat
And needless to say
The food is always good

It is funny, how
Friends and family
Merge sometimes
As happens
In the cafe at the end of the street
Where friends are family
And family are friends

They told me
They are closing in September
A loss like a family bereavement
I can only hope that
I find another place to go
Or maybe a new street to live on
Where I can
Walk out my door, and feel
Home

He's

Licking

     His lips

    And I wish

They were mine

there was a man
with hair on his face
it grew and grew
all over the place

there was no place
it did not grow
a face so hairy
only his eyes did show

his big thick beard
was almost black
but red and blonde hairs
he did not lack

over his lips and ears
it did so drape
so he took his scissors
and began to shape

he took his time
he snipped with care
but in the end
he cut too much hair

his hair lay in a clump
within his hands he did cup
and thought to himself
well i ****** this all up

looking in the mirror
he really felt sad
thinking back 5 minutes
to the beard he just had

all and all
this really did blow
but it will be back
in a few weeks or so

...

i thought it’d be poetic
to leave you the same way i found you,
with a contentless text—
a simple entered space
(i knew you wouldn’t catch it)
although you seem to be someone
who thinks very deeply about all someones,
your thoughts about me are puddles
disguised as over-complimenting oceans

and i really do not know
what i am or what i’ve been to you,
or if i’ll be able to keep myself away
from you, or why you’d drive hours
to see me in the middle of the night
when you “plan on kissing at least one
girl in the next three months,”
(could care less if it’s me)

"what would i be waiting for," you asked.

i’m barefoot, chasing a train i know
is on tracks that lead away from where
i want and need to be (but i liked the way
it felt when your hand touched mine)

glad i never gave you any piece of my heart,
because you’re the type of boy who’d
rip it to shreds, hide your claws
behind your back, and tell me that
i should’ve seen it coming
(though you would’ve been right)

maybe you’re just bored,
and that’s why you decorate
your skin with ink and don’t care
about whose lips you’ve touched,
and i wish i could figure you out,
wish i could draw a perfect portrait
with my words (or even just
my thoughts) of who you are,
but i won’t pretend i know you

i hate you and your ***** tattoo
(but i don’t really hate you,
i hate the way i let you make me feel.)