awakening autumn air
absorbed with thrown caution
a penchant for yawning leaves
an affinity for desiccated hearts

stirring lakeside willows
whisking emotions away
wafting feminine fragrance
in walking women's wakes

moving to its own designs
gusting in pursuit of change
swirling clouds of romantic disarray
into dizzying vortexes of possibility

expanding the bellows of intimacy
lovesmith for glowing molten souls
passionately ignited, vulnerably cooled
forging bonds, tempering existence

I don't ask your permission
to make a fool of myself,
tell you publicly
what my near, dear ones
have almost no clue

my mental torment,
headache-constant,
imperial and impervious
poetry, pills, therapy,
caring words
don't pay my kind of bills

a man has a job.
Feed you family.
Protect and serve.

do  it well,
there is no acceptable excuse.
none.

was supposed to be easing on down,
slipping under.

come so far, my soul is old.
my tired is w/o definition.
the legs, knotted shoulders,
body aging faster than I can write.
the doctors only give me
if's and unless's,
contingencies in order
to die a little slower

warped, reversal of causality,
the older I get,
the more mouths to feed.
tough, this unexpected situation,
a nine lives time survivor,
do it again?

defraud myself,
living like I can afford
to write,
with courageous reckless abandon,
when earnest is deadly
and Lady Luck gave me the finger.

simply amazing.
eyes, constantly tearing,
nobody notices.

Do not ! Like this poem,
don't.
hate weak,
been strong so long.
this well, just got dregs left,
drudgery ain't potable, or even
worth drinking.

need nothing,
for myself, need nothing.
not one object on this planet
want to posses or be possessed by.

Monday wrestle with strife,
star in my reality show once again.
now, deny reality.

Do not!
Like this poem,
don't.
hate weak,
been strong so long.

my voice is stilled,
it's poverty exposed,
ashamed of every word I ever wrote.

hush me not, for tis true,
write on for an audience of one,
on but one subject,
a life, mine,
yet, still unmastered,
after decades of trying.

poverty exposed,
a life unmasked
for what it is worth,
or not.

I must know...

the smell of your blowing hair
   in the leaf-strewn autumn wind

the touch of your hand on my chest
   closely held in a sleepy winter bed

the sight of your eyes lit with wonder
   for the beauty of spring's first flowers

the sound of your voice calling my name
   through a window from a summer garden

...and as the cycle renews...

the taste of your fertility
   under the cover of a harvest moon

...there simply aren't enough seasons
to gain a complete sense of all that you are

Life, solemn and cold
Mostly resembles a pile of ashes
Still they all fall short, none bold
One can only pray that bliss will take hold  
But then, something magical begins to take flight
From the cold isolation sitting there in the night
And from the pile this began to ascend
You, the Phoenix, rose apart from them

You lit the sky with brilliant fire
Similar to which you lit my desire
Desire to cherish this blessing from high
Your beauty as dazzling as the fire in the sky
Your love like the sunset, in which there’s no fear
Because come morning I know it will be here
And in this eternity I know we can stay
For I wish to hold it the rest of my days

For from despair I’ll finally awaken
As my heart you quickly have taken
And take you may, but protect you must
And together we can stay out of the dust
For ash is not as dismal nor sad as I feared
When in my arms, I can hold you right here
The fire to keep us warm in the cold
Our love to burn forever, as we grow old
And if my body becomes ash again
For you my love would rise from them

You choose a sepia filter
To match your timeless visage
To match the clothes you've wandered into today
But it is not a selfie.

Your eyes pierce them through their iPhone screens
Your smile is casually not directed towards anyone in particular
Your outfit is recklessly on point
And it is not a selfie.

It is a punch in the gut
to everyone who has ever
said you are not good enough.
It is not a selfie.

The wings by your eyes will go out of style.
The dye in your hair will wash down the drain.
The clothes will wear out and you will take pictures again.

But you have fabricated a moment.
You are smiling towards yourself.
Slap your image onto every social media you know
Next to the supermodels and Kardashians and words of self hatred
This is the fulcrum with which you will lever the world.
This is not a selfie.

I am going to buy a billboard
in the middle of some city
Big white words on a ******* canvas:
"Stop romanticizing love."

City people in their white city shawls
holding their black city umbrellas
will stop and laugh or take a picture
City people will walk on by

I tried every piano key and
the door to your heart or soul or brain or
whatever, just won't open
One part of me wants to try my shoulder next

I'm going to start a support group out here
We'll play chess and read old newspapers
A circle of lovely, miserable silhouettes
Complaining about our animal instinct.

It is far easier this way.
It is easier to believe the stories.

We do not know just how wrong we are
But we are vaguely aware.

Someday I'll think back
forget your name for a sec.
Until then I will enjoy
Watching you dodge my gaze.

We're two one-sided cardboard pieces
Segments of a cloudy sky
It looks like we would fit together
But we won't
But we try.
But we try.