Every time the sun comes up
I go down
And every time the moon shines
I am up
Ready to work on my stuff
Ready to play with my baggage
Packing and unpacking
To find what I am lacking
And putting it all back in again
Then I cycle back

How long has it been
Since you thought
I forgot
The lies that you called sin
Were natural
Our inclination
To touch skin
To rush in
And feel pleasure
In pleasuring
Measured by unmeasured breathing
Leaning in lips touch
Pulling out as much
As pushing in
Gasping
Desperate for the touch
I miss that as much
As anyone can
For it has been
A long time between
Lovers

I took a broom to seven generations
of moths in the spare bedroom closet
when I saw the red wool sweater in a box
with crossed white cloth baseball bats
sewn on the back and a # 1 patch smack
dab on the heart; the window to my past
shattered like glass on a long ago Saturday.

Its when your dreams manifest in the flesh
nightmares too, that can follow you around for decades
a sham ,shambling, shadow of yourself, sometimes
just getting by, with your head in the clouds, unconcerned
for today, let alone tomorrow, with its fear woven tightly into each unknown hour. Yes its the dream stalked by nightmares come together
to vie for your sanity, to vie for recognition, to become the flesh and bone
that lives out its own premonitions.

there is a postcard lying in the middle of my floor
covered in her writing
telling me that I am worth it
telling me that she loves me
it looks so perfect just lying there
in the center of my carpet
i cant bring myself to move it or touch it
my mom doesn't try to pick it up
because even she sees how rightful its placement is
right and perfect
and truly in love

The pleasure of an argument
Is the change from right to wrong.
So sure, so firm when first begun,
Now where do I belong.

I started no, then maybe so,
Before long I agree,
Up is down, a smile a frown,
Is non, peut-etre, oui.

I hear, I feel, the yin, the yang
Of every point of view,
Let’s argue for a paradise,
Where all-everything is true.