what a wonderful heap of molecules
.i love every quark of you
and how you culminate my thought
,as if the wind stolen from my lungs
was decoded into something
greater than I can breathe

Man forgets that he was made to forget

he uses books for tools to remember

Another man burns his book

it's a futile ceremony

hardly a stone or a stick

because words will never heal thee

Perhaps greatness is in the way you yield
The way you stopped reaching
Settled in to greatness

Perhaps it is exemplary in your plan
The constant pushing away
Greatness can wait another day

Perhaps your incomplete work
One unraveled drawing
Half a turn of dance
Some desperate note
Poem of

Unknown greatness

Workers jump to your hoses
Poets jump to your pens
The men with guns are sure to jump
Before the crisis ends
They subtracted from 8 million stories
For the glory of one
Attacked innocents
Retrained our eyes to comb the distance
For incidents involving incendiary elements
An attack with no relevance
Just bullies stuffing our will
Into the locker of remembrance

Nothing to fear when space is still darker
Nothing to fear when the sun is still hotter
The Earth will turn the darkness
Over their heads
The light will make it
City of Martyrs
Never a truer hero than time
Who fights for our honor.

think your worst thought

and throw it deep in the pines
to get caught on the vines

then go there at night
when the light of a bone
colored moon makes shadows
rattle and bite

and hold that thought

tight.

r ~ 9/11/14

perhaps we'll be fine; without line breaks; staring,coping,adjusting who really thought a standard forever, who ever thought a word blooms? into? an? unstoppable? language? without letting go past the lips, speak now or forever hold... perhaps we'll be fine repeating, growing, sharing perhaps perhaps the untied tongue will create a totem of memories where darkness splits against held hands protective, warming, sooooo tender with dreams perhaps there's you perhaps there's me

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new

Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.