where there's no echo from the outer range
of what was said before we turned for home
about the meanings both of choice and change
and what it means when we begin to roam
beyond the bounds of our accepted world
to those domains now hidden in the dark
where our free banners may at last unfurled
be flown above our heads as the great mark
of where we stand and what we mean to hold
upon the heights the point of what we do
when we have moved from warmth into the cold
and made our old place into something new
the truth of this is said without alarm
but your reply is what must give it charm

That small man who always sang
That small man who danced in my head
That small man with youth
Undid his shoelaces
And broke all the barracks of the festival
Suddenly everything collapsed
And in the silence of the festival
In the ruin of the festival
I heard your happy voice
Your voice so torn and fragile
Innocent and desolate
Came from afar and called me
And I put my hands on my chest
where they trembled ******
Seven broken pieces of mirror
with your twinkling smile

I wish I could leave this world
in a blur of beauty:
red paint like blood
slashed across a canvas
white as porcelain skin.
There is something
in the terror of pure destruction
that appeals to me.
The scene of my suicide
will be my masterpiece,
a parting gift to the world
that gave me too little,
a chance to make things right.
Everything will be right
in the end
because I will see
the beauty.

Your face is asymetrical in a way that makes me love nature.
Your voice is light and charming.
Full of care, sensitivity, and fun.
It tells me not to tell you again.

When you smile, I know you're tired of hearing.
Maybe you're not as happy as you could be,
But you're content enough where you are.
The sympathy in your eyes says that you remember.

Keep it to yourself. I know, I know, I know.
Don't remind me. Don't keep hurting yourself.
Move on. Please. It'll never be you.
Yes: when you sip your tea, I hear you think.

I bite my tongue.
I'll be quiet. I'll keep it light and unimportant.
I don't need to tell you how badly I care for you.
It would only be selfishness, and you feel guilty enough.

So instead of writing loveletters,
I devise the most boringly cliche poems.
And when I find your photo, the fantasies fill my head.
And at the end, I stare up at you from the water.
And I can't breathe.

Let a joyful noise
Fill this place
Let love rain down
And cover us with grace
Let the light come down
Let us sing and dance
Sing in praise
Sing out loud
Sing for our souls
Dance in the street
Cause we need to let
A little joy rain down
Let it rain over the world
Until we can't stop dancing
Until we can't stop singing
Until we can't stop rejoicing
Allow a little joy into your heart
You will be surprised how far it just might go

I want you know
We all fall down
It just depends
If you get yourself
Back up again
You can soar
Soaring above it all
Becoming free of the world
Freeing yourself
From everything that holds you down

My sword and shield
Adorned on Ralph and Lauren
Cherry blossoms potions of health and well being
The hunt is on

St. George but an amateur
His quarry old and withered
These dragons of the modern age
Caught in mine eyes through reeds of tall grass

In a flash my blade swings
-nothing happens
but to the magic of illusion
I am a hero, a knight’ noble

In the retrospective
I’m just a boy swinging sticks at dragonflies
And in the retrospective
I hate the retrospective