There are dreamers
and there are realists in this world.
You'd think the dreamers
would find the dreamers
and
the realists
would find the realists,
but more often than not
the opposite is true
You see ,
the dreamers need the realists
to keep them from soaring
too close to the sun
and the realists...
well, without the dreamers
they might never get off the ground

On Monday I didn't go to school
because you wanted to take me out instead
We walked around the park downtown all afternoon
finally we perched ourselves in the gazebo
immersing ourselves in each other's thoughts
and wading in traded words.
My attention was shattered when a
lady bug landed on my knee. I was baffled-
I exclaimed that it's orange. You laughed and I
coaxed it onto my finger. And you told me
"Some of them are green you know"
I didn't know. I said "maybe those ones just aren't ripe yet"
I played with the bug for a few more seconds
until I felt your gaze, and I lifted my emerald greens
to your cup-of-coffee mahognies. You were looking at me
the way I imagined Gatsby must have looked at Daisy.
And you smiled a little too wide
for the stupid thing I had just said. You touched my chin
and kissed me gently, and i could feel your lips
still frozen in a grin.
But when I looked back down my coveted orange lady bug
had flown away-
and left no trace that he ever came.

There is a crack down my center
diremption black-balling an existential ease
The Moon knows who I am
sighing my name in her bending light
beaming to my tattered rim

Oh, lustrous bulb emblazoned in elevation
a sister to mine
she dangles in confidence
companionless, wandering among stars
and ever-changing, ricochet
between lunar phases evasive

Her metallic optimism calls to my insomniac iris, but
our stunning single source of light
does possess a polar
of two, where
a potent cynicism sleeps soundly
out of view, in
darkness everlasting

Pale in her weariness is she
scaling east to west, but
sabbatical she is not
for methodical hands protest in sway
But what would come of us if The Moon came
crashing
down?

Decapitate yourself and see-
prisoners of our own perception are we
Our minds are a trap,
for how easy it is
for things to go in; but near impossible
to set them free

So be careful what you put in there
They may never find
a way
out

I will love you through a thousand lives
I love you vertically
Horizontally, I shall love you too
I will even love you in a ten foot descent
and long after to the visceral heavens
I ascend

People say
it's annoying that
I flip two luckys
in every cigarette pack
but maybe i find it annoying
that people notice when
i lose three pounds
but not when
i wear a
new
pair
of
jeans.