A fading shade; built with care
once bright, now reminiscent
of coming winter.

Time-bent frame; piney dreams
of summer days, gone
now splintered.

Binding rings; stretching link
rusted chains, cold rains
blow bitter.

r ~ 5/12/14

You said I love you.
I say I love you more.
But love is a prime number,
and zero squared is still zero.

r ~ 5/10/14

if she had asked me, then
"Do we all die?"
i would have answered in a solemn sigh:
"Of course we do."
the realism impenetrable, the grounded logistics.

she asks me now
"Can we exist in other dimensions?"
and i reply, with a taxed, drudging honesty:
"I have."

I’ve got a list of things to do
That’s longer than my arm;
As soon as Item 1 is finished,
It’s time for Item 2.
I never get a break it seems,
I’m always on the clock.
Would you believe I feel this stress
Even in my dreams?
My day is just an exercise
In busywork, I think.
I have no time for pleasure,
Or a joyful surprise.
But today is like a work of art,
The flowers are in bloom.
Isn’t that a gorgeous sky?
Such beauty fills my heart.
To heck with all those mindless tasks!
I’m tearing up my list!
I’m going to savor this fine day:
Enjoy it while it lasts.

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom.

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.