Don't forego the innocence of creation
We weep the same salty tears as our mother's
The same clearing air fills our lungs with song
The bristled brush strokes and black pencil marks
Have seen the same hallowed curve through time
Let us fall into our place on the arc of our story
We forget our truths in each mornings rise
Rejecting the lines that just yesterday we drew
Until each day it is written anew.  By you.
Or else rejected as trite, an artifact of life
Rejected by years and years of tribalism
There can be nothing new under the sun
So scratch and awl the patterns and patches
Or remember the innocence, the open patch
Between the trees where sun breathes life
Into your skin and eyes and mouth.
Where breezes set the color of your mind
and Your tune buzzes beneath the countenance of your love.

You do not have to be good
If you hear the whispers
Faint in the hallways
of your own heart
You have already heard
that there is no good
Only that which your
lips ache for
In pangs bowels deep
Where flesh raises at
the thought of ends
where poorest judgement
Lies awake with torment
It is the very breath of our disaster.

You do not have to be good
Be gratefully abhorent
A jubilant banjo of colors
Bleeding together into song
With crackled verse sung
Proud melodies whipped
Choruses bent forward
Into screaming chasms of hope
Until the voice is its own
Kind of weeping reality
Where the energies lie within
The centers of us all

You do not have to be good.
The spaces in your lines are there
like the gaps in notes
Rests of benevolent space
Vibrations mended by air
Blown by the wind
Until it lands upon your lips
Parted so perfectly
the strings of relevance
breathed out and in
Across my ears
Into my center.