You really have to watch those liberal males,
they'll spend hours and hours with you having
deep intellectual conversations.

They'll discuss deep ideas, contemplate esoteric
theory and spiritual ideas. They'll make love
for hours and write deep and meaningful poetry
about you. Sure, they will probably wear their hair
long and most likely won't own a television.

But, they'll understand art and architecture and
literature. It's true that they probably won't give two
shakes about who won what football game, but they'll
dance with you late at night under the stars and they're
always looking for new ways to please you and usually
understand your deepest thoughts, often before you
understand them yourself.

They'll be your best friend and always treat you as
an equal, in fact, it will never even enter their mind
that you're not. They're almost always physically fit, too,
because they're usually the outdoorsy type and love to hike.
They never make fun of others, or discuss small ideas.
They enjoy discussing ways to improve the world and
the lives of others.

Sure, they won't slap you on your *** and tell you to get in
the kitchen and cook them some dinner and bring them a beer
while you're at it like those macho men on the right. Instead
they'll probably tell you to relax while they whip you up a
gourmet meal and serve it to you on the best dishes.

Yeah, you really gotta watch out for those liberal males.

There are no haunted places
Only haunted people

In the innermost chamber of the heart,
is a room where the intellect can be quiet and rest.
Here, these two old friends are on equal footing.

Neither struggles for the upper hand.
They have often smiled at each other across
the heavy wooden table placed between them.

Leaning in, they talk about your day.
"Did you feel that moment when we stood
shoulder to shoulder, and she felt it?"

Like some windless river in an ancient city,
where both shores are made of good grey granite,
they feel everything you feel, and gently stand their ground.

We are the ones who feel
almost everything.

Squeezed like sun-warmed
wine grapes, pressed
like fragrant coffee beans,
distilled like kilos of flowers,
may these memories of our lives
become good poems.

Sometimes you just want a small hug,
a kind voice to tell you
it will all be okay
one day.

Other times you just want to kiss someone,
so hard and for so long,
that time stops and you forget
whose oxygen you're breathing.

The line for the local convenience store
Stretched out to Market Avenue’s dirt curb,
Past makeshift street clowns juggling the poor
And the ***-stench of “Population Curb.”

We make like big balloons who self-implode:
Fires to fight fires, guns to fight guns,
Fighting for survival makes mores erode
When a dark illusion has fooled billions.

Little John waits in line with his mommy,
No more than a decade, he learns to shoot.
Life was quiet like a dark raging sea,
Now we shake from a screen and men in suits

Fear not, trembling people of the world,
There is a way to end the gun violence,
To stop making canyons of the knurled:
Guns for all! Shun to think of gun absence!

Automatics in the professor’s desk,
Two pistols strapped to Sally’s little thighs,
End common fear with something more grotesque:
Endless rivers of red and eyes for eyes.

She sang herself to sleep every now and then
As the tears trickled down her tiny face
During those nights, no one heard except for the pillow case positioned under her head
And the mattress served as a barrier for the demons that lived beneath her bed
As the sun buries itself into the sea,
Its flames die out and so does she
Nights are when she crosses out the days left on her beating skin
Dawns are when she peels off dry scars and have her cuts covered in bandages
Solitary lullabies are what keep her sane
But the words leave the mouth of a battered child yearning for the company of another,
But she is all that will remain

n.j.