the Big Gruff Man
let the fear from his soul
leak through gray stone eyes

how hard the matter
must have been pressed
before he released his grip
on that liquid prize

what a strange sight
seeing water falling,
falling,
                falling,
                                falling
from those grave, stone eyes

he looks at me
as though i hold the key
to unlock the lock
and release the chain
binding him to his pain

look away Big Gruff Man
or i will drown
in your pleading stare

for you are me
or more to the point
what i fear to be

i scream to his deaf ears
"it is not the matter
but the clinging
that brings your pain!"

let it go,
                  let it go,
                                   let it go

the waters will come
the waters will rise
the waters will carry you away

Maybe,
I could spread a thousand constellations on the ceiling of your palms
--dig them honeysuckle deep into my ridges;
            & to be blind to the oncoming melodies, when the blue and black bees come singing
            i will sweep the petals under my eyes and blink them,
             shuttered shut.
& we will still remain, intertwined:
fingerstems of you in my skin
will those cluster bees follow me
bleed their ink into my serenity

Paycheck, oh paycheck!
How you are missed!
This MoneyNetwork card
Will soon eat my fist.

No proof of deposit
No numbers I can see.
It is all a plot
To cause my insanity.

I cannot prove
That I have been paid.
I can only hope
I can find a hearing aid.

Only verbal knowledge
I now possess.
I thought I got paid
But alas, I regress.

I yearn for my paycheck
That ink-splattered slip
To know I have money
To know I won't have to strip.

Seven nations stood with their hands on the jaws of death.
It was the first week in August, Nineteen Hundred Fourteen.
I was listening, you were listening, the whole world was
     listening,
And all of us heard a Voice murmuring:
               "I am the way and the light,
               He that believeth on me
               Shall not perish
               But shall have everlasting life."
Seven nations listening heard the Voice and answered:
               "O Hell!"
The jaws of death began clicking and they go on clicking.
               "O Hell !"

If there was another way to say it;
An easy way for you to understand...
I would not be pouring out these words
In an attempt to paint a picture.
I wouldn't be desperate to bottle
My emotions and thoughts
Into these stained glass letters,
With the tin syntax lid.
Poking holes through the top
Of my head,
So you could see.
Firefly ideas.

I am a photographer of hearts and minds.
The blood red room holds
My negatives.
How can I make them easier for you to see?
The composition so sweet,
The lighting so contrasted with
The shadows hiding the everyday.

What I really want you to do is stop reading.
Go look into the eyes of a lover.
Go hold a child's hand while they sing.
Listen to the wind change.
Feel the pulse of a city.
Cry with old wrinkled skin
For youth and life, and hope.

That is what my poem means.
It is a pulsing picture
Held captive in rhetoric.

It’s all right, zombie husband.
I didn’t like the dog.
Or the twins.
Seriously, all they did was cry.
It’s like, “shut up, already”,
You know?