love in my throat, caught stuck, then swallowed--
dulled razor blades descend, hit my stomach,
and dissolve into honeyed drink that soothes me.
it is rough to start, as we may all know,
and eases itself into our core when we let the right one in.
and i did, without question. we may fight, sometimes,
about the silliest things, but that fire
is what heats my heart when i'm at my lowest.
she's beautiful beyond words, and sweet and cute and kind,
but never tell her that or she'll curse you with her evil
wizard magicks.
i love what she is and what she isn't--
patient (no), passionate (yes), and that she cares
about me in a way that invalidates my previous hurt.
i worry that i won't be good enough, that she'll find someone better
for her, or that i'll do something stupid to ruin it all.
but the essence i've consumed by living teaches me to improve,
compels me, not just for her sake but mine.
love is teaching me, warm honeyed drink in me, and i listen.
all that i can say after this is: thank you.

a doll in caring hands is hardened, wiser than the eyes might betray.
looks up, wide-eyed and sincere,
hoping that this day will be another filled
with laughter, love, and fun.

and in caring hands, the doll, outwardly
pristine yet bearing scars all their own,
sees opportunity. friendship, love, care,
hope.

each day is an adventure all its own,
thread-bare truths, communion, lust, a metaphor, after whom they were modeled.

the metaphor houses more than communion and lust-- misunderstanding, learning, fear are all fighting to be seen, heard, felt.
wanted. needed. heard.

in caring hands, they will be. they deserve
to be. smiling wholly on the inside, serene,
fulfilled, attended to.

caring hands impart the love they need
in the measure they require, sonorous,
generous, kind. full and deep. because they
were crafted in the image of a lover,
we just didn't ask which it was.

can i not bore into my temple
and remove the bitterest parts
of myself when they scream?

am i forced to witness their decaying
motions as they spoil and rot
every good thing I feel?

i say no, because i am worth more
than unspoken disdain, disgust,
unpleasantry.

fingertips to burdened lips,
I unsilence them and free the raindrop
words that ache to revive the good
behind the hurt.

paintbrush smattered in an ugly
hue of purely human creation,
no divinity in its intent, portrays
an image of a me that doesn't like me.

but it washes off in realization
that water is love is truth.
and that truth, beyond me
and in me, is good.

any sense of who i am or was or will be
dissolved in that caustic drink
i so willingly  consume.
in it, reds, yellows, and blues morph
into filtered hues of black and grey, devoid
of anything resembling life. and I smile.
the diary in the corner, topped with dust,
wants more secrets to fill its pages
but I'm too tight-lipped to indulge.

Take heed, the earth is unforgiving
and can be as potent, subtle,
as poison.
Each gift it has given, rejoice,
for it is unafraid
to take back what it rightfully owns.
Man may say that it controls
the Earth, its resources–
torrents–monumental, crashing–
beg to differ.
We offer our condolences
to an already deafened sky.
Promises to “do better next time.”
Our earth, the stern father
that it is, does not waver.
Instead, slick, clean window panes are beaten
by a downpour, and
asphalt with the thirst of its cracks
quenched are all that we receive.
Field upon field with more moisture
than it can bear.
Who were we not to revere this land,
we who apologize as beauty betrays.

all at once, and little by little, i fell in love. for the first time in my life, it didn't feel like something i needed to force or prove. it simply was. is. and thinking about her, us, the simple, the fun, and the delightfully mundane fills my heart to burst in a way that feels like a secure embrace and a soft kiss on my forehead. i love the sound of her voice, her long-winded stories, and her goofy laugh that betrays the surliness she'd sometimes feign to avoid feeling too much, too quickly. i am seen and heard and loved and valued, and it feels so effortless. never in my days did I imagine wanting to cheerlead and love and support someone so fully, to point it inward and treat myself the same. blues and greens and purples and pinks have never been brighter to me, saturated by the richness of each tender brush stroke in our ongoing tapestry. i love being in love and i love the woman that taught me how to eat the sun and let it go before the moon can miss it.

i was watching
Shane's funeral

beautiful
and deservingly so

and i wondered
who would come to my funeral???

(debt collectors
police
2 x-wives
DEA)
(surely
i'm heading to purgatory)

perhaps she'll come
the woman who wants to be a mortician
i meant her at the liquor store

i answered her ad
in the A.P. press,
it read, as follows:

Female, a young 60
likes UFO stories
and exorcisms
loves to watch autopsies,
has a potato chip
that looks like D. Trump!
(not for sale)
will be in front of BY-WAY Liquor store
7 a.m. Tuesday. Gladys.

and one thing
led to another
SO,
here i am
and the the smoke
from the camp
fire's
burning my eyes
i'm on my 18th can
of miller light
Gladys and me
are looking for
UFO s