They ran along the side of the eroding asphalt road, gray pebbles digging rolling against the undersides of their feet

Freedom before freedom is remembered and truly needed

Just kids

When they got back to Ryan's house, Oscar said he needed a glass of water. Ryan ran inside to get a glass of water.

Oscar watched some ants eat a beetle by the front door.

I wake up slowly
like slow-motion, like soft jazz,
like every movie you've ever seen
about tragedy,
where the main character fades in from black
the sound of a cell phone ringing gets louder as the camera focuses
and the person,
let's call it a her, and let's call her Sally
opens her eyes
and it's like a mist or a fog still
for a few seconds
which are their own unique eternity and existence
and then Sally answers the cell phone
says "hello?" in that groggy, confused way people do when they've just woken up
and then the room is quiet
and then Sally's head is full of ringing
and you never know exactly what was said on the line
because of all the ringing
but you know it's bad news
because the next scene
Crying in a bedroom
Blankly staring off into space.

I used to hate those scenes in movies.
I always wondered what was said
over the phone.

But now I understand.
Because bad news hits so hard sometimes
we can't remember the exact words that were said
only the dread.

Only the dread.


I love
I am loved
I do not like
I am not liked
I feel
I am full
I cannot feel
I am empty
I am all things ever
Stardust reincarnate
I am insignificant
I am no one

I am a poet
I write
I am illiterate
In many languages

Black or white
All these things still are.

If all my loves be rivers,
then the landscape of my soul
is ancient Sumer,
a rich soil of sprawling floodland
which feeds my ambitions and my
most potent desires

If all my loves be rivers,
then You, sir, are the arterial causeway
of the whole spraying spigot.

You are the Nile, which overflows and destroys as much as it carries and creates. You are the Yhangtze. You are the Mississippi.
In the middle of your route, you become the dead sea. I feel myself floating against you.

You are all rivers.
But you are not the ONLY river.

And that is why I wonder
about possible paths that might yet
connect me back to you.

Even if you
are not
the river I choose
to paddle.

I feel like you are the leafstem
which grows tiny veins
pushing outward on the leaf.
Every line goes back to you.

That's true.

River or leaf
love or not
my canoe comes back
to the love I've sought.

Your love.
You're love.

Today I realized that
is a combination
of two
very bad

So many beautiful moments to enjoy
To fill you up and allow you to feel
Would it be wrong to try
And find meaning in them?

Instant relief in a world of instant everything
It seemed impossible but now seems obvious,
As everything does in hindsight.
Of course, of course,
I must retain my walls,
Boundaries high and low, far reaching
As Hadrian's conquest,
Probably an echo in my blood,
Brought down through generations,
Only to be changed now
In a world too full of information,
Scattered like bags of ashes across the face of global communications and user friendly internet.

Ancestry battles now
Mutation maybe
And the cry goes out,
To remedy instant electronic relief.
And not have frescos devoted to iPads
When our civilization becomes dust.

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