You're happy when you're smiling,
I'm happy when I'm not.
You're happy when I'm lying,
I smile when I get caught.

As the locusts sang in the twilight heat
The Sun no longer baked the city-street,
The lonely last was her to repeat.
August.

Her lonely soul ready to bare
Trying to hide her utter despair,
She wouldn't mind if there were someone to share,
August.

Seeing lovers in the park
Who would hold hands without a care,
She would cry inside, 'It just isn't fair."
In August.


May never comes too soon
June is the month to spoon
July just right for a honeymoon

But August?


July 16 1963

I am not jealous
of what came before me.

Come with a man
on your shoulders,
come with a hundred men in your hair,
come with a thousand men between your ******* and your feet,
come like a river
full of drowned men
which flows down to the wild sea,
to the eternal surf, to Time!

Bring them all
to where I am waiting for you;
we shall always be alone,
we shall always be you and I
alone on earth
to start our life!

I softly kiss
the back of your neck
because I know
you like it
as much as
I like to hear
the rustle of the sheets
as your mocha eyes
catch me in the dark.
So close that your
shallow breath tickles
my day old shave
and your nose brushes
my stubbled cheek.
My soft goodnight
tiptoes past your ear.
A faint smile and you
nudge me with your knee
or poke me with your elbow
before you turn away,
settling back into the arms
wrapping your chest.

I squeeze a little.
You squeeze back.

There's nothing that can be said
About the beauty of your eyes
That wise men with pens wiser than mine
Haven't wrote centuries ago

Bright
They curiously follow others
god knows who
And hold the most amazing secrets
That I'll never know.

Unto seventy years and seven,
  Hide your double birthright well--
You, that are the brat of Heaven
  And the pampered heir to Hell.

Let your rhymes be tinsel treasures,
  Strung and seen and thrown aside.
Drill your apt and docile measures
  Sternly as you drill your pride.

Show your quick, alarming skill in
  Tidy mockeries of art;
Never, never dip your quill in
  Ink that rushes from your heart.

When your pain must come to paper,
  See it dust, before the day;
Let your night-light curl and caper,
  Let it lick the words away.

Never print, poor child, a lay on
  Love and tears and anguishing,
Lest a cooled, benignant Phaon
  Murmur, "Silly little thing!"

Laying motionless in the soft grass
My mind shuts off
My heart turns on
I stare endlessly into deep black
Into the soul of the night
I hear sweet calming music
A deep feeling of a beat
From the small band in my heart
My eyes start to dance
From one star to another
My tongue slips in
Swaying from side to side
The whole sky was my ballroom
The dark had never been more beautiful
More full of color
Then that one night

How deep is the Ocean
Is
Seven miles
Deeper than my deepest thoughts?
Does the lack of light
Breed as much darkness
As I can in
A single night?
Are there creatures there
So heinous that I
Couldn’t even
Dream of dreaming them up?
What mysteries
What horrors
Could lie in a land
More alien
Than the moon?
I think this is
Why the Ocean
Terrifies me
And why I’ll never swim
In open water
With a billion tons
Of blackness
beneath my feet.

The seed-at-zero shall not storm
That town of ghosts, the trodden womb,
With her rampart to his tapping,
No god-in-hero tumble down
Like a tower on the town
Dumbly and divinely stumbling
Over the manwaging line.

The seed-at-zero shall not storm
That town of ghosts, the manwaged tomb
With her rampart to his tapping,
No god-in-hero tumble down
Like a tower on the town
Dumbly and divinely leaping
Over the warbearing line.

Through the rampart of the sky
Shall the star-flanked seed be riddled,
Manna for the rumbling ground,
Quickening for the riddled sea;
Settled on a ****** stronghold
He shall grapple with the guard
And the keeper of the key.

May a humble village labour
And a continent deny?
A hemisphere may scold him
And a green inch be his bearer;
Let the hero seed find harbour,
Seaports by a drunken shore
Have their thirsty sailors hide him.

May be a humble planet labour
And a continent deny?
A village green may scold him
And a high sphere be his bearer;
Let the hero seed find harbour,
Seaports by a thirsty shore
Have their drunken sailors hide him.

Man-in-seed, in seed-at-zero,
From the foreign fields of space,
Shall not thunder on the town
With a star-flanked garrison,
Nor the cannons of his kingdom
Shall the hero-in-tomorrow
Range on the sky-scraping place.

Man-in-seed, in seed-at-zero,
From the star-flanked fields of space,
Thunders on the foreign town
With a sand-bagged garrison,
Nor the cannons of his kingdom
Shall the hero-in-to-morrow
Range from the grave-groping place.