This world's a story
filled with stones: those five
smooth ones; some temple
tumbling to; a mountain's
stubborn bones. Take this one,

pocked, rounded, smoothed,
rocked by currents sure
they'd find the way. Blue
(or vaguely gray), flecked gold
no miners mine, or can,

diminished thing from David's
bolder day, it chooses you.
Palmed in your closing hand,
it's good, the heft of it, live weight
to tell a tale that's true.

No tribal scarring marks your face
no cinder walk or thorn-pierced tongue
to prove you are no longer young
but fit to take your rightful place

Your generation never fought
And you have wished that you could see
the selfless, brave camaraderie
of which you were so often taught

Alas for you to fetch ashore
when we had lost our appetite
for making children go and fight
and briefly grieved, and said "No more!"

Condemning you, unreconciled,
to shed no blood, as real men should;
to feel that life is mostly good
Oh foolish knave!  Oh hopeless child!

And saddled with this gross mistake
your quiet kindness gently spread
and harmless fascinations fed
and left no corpses in their wake

To think we looked to one unmanned
as children, hungry for a clue
of what it's right for men to do,
led, blind,  by your unbloodied hand

Sought thoughts from one who could not brag
of marching forth to suicide
for waxed moustaches' sense of pride
Nor bleeding dry beneath a flag

But you had naught to tell us, save
that life is hopeful and sublime
and we should use this precious time
And I'll be grateful to the grave.

What was her name?
****, I can’t remember.

It was a boy’s name
made feminine
with a little “i” at the end
like maybe hearing it would
make you think of
some fat guy making pizzas
until you see it
spelled out or
until it becomes attached
to her lips and hair and
skin.
The “i” was not dotted
with a little heart,
(not her style at all) but
I should have a picture
in a box some where with more pictures.
I don’t.

I’ve got little notes,
tiny thoughts scribbled
on empty match book covers,
on the backs of
pretentious
business cards,
in the borders of
the mutilated,
amputated flesh
of decrepit
used up yellow pages,  
ripped from a dead and
disjointed phone book.

I woke up from this dream
and groped for something
to scrawl on,
anything,
because it seemed significant
at 2:38 am.

In the desert somewhere,
(I’ve never even been)
you were
looking out the window
and the way the parched
dry light crackled
around you
you might have been an angel
or a sign
partially occluded by glass
advertising something
I could never afford
like family or god
when suddenly you were not
a silhouette,
not back lit,
but glowing.

You were so in love, with
who I don’t know, and you
went into free fall
back
onto the bed
pulled your knees up
to your chest and
kicked your legs giggling.
I was part dead, half ghost
and still happy that you
were so happy.
I said, “you’re pregnant?”
knowing the way you
know things without
really having a way
of knowing
in a dream.

You laughed again
grabbed your little dog up
in your arms,
(I’ve no idea where the pup
came from), and baby-whispered,
“You’re going to cut
the umbilical,
aren’t you?”

and I woke with
the image of that mongrel
chewing through
the cord.

I am
waiting at the pharmacy
and the…
technician,
is reading the
cryptic symbols
penned in
indiscernible Latin,
my prescription.
She is not beautiful
but very fuckable
And in my mind
I am constructing an
image of her ******,
likening  
the shape,
size, color, etc.,
to her mouth,
when I see
my own writing on
the back
through her precise
fingers.

The tech,  
she is holding a
snapshot of her.
It might as well be
a picture of me
vomiting or
******* or
defecating.
This
is what I have left,
my version of a photo,
my dream,
scrawled on the back
of my medicine.

**** getting better.  
I ****** it from her hand.

I leave fast.  I will
never go back.
This is no chemical imbalance.
This is not my inheritance.
The loss and pain, sometimes,
that's the pill we need to swallow.

there was a cemetery day
in the heat of july
when the shadow dreams called
and i fell in love with you.

there was a cemetery day
when i walked tight ropes
when we serenaded the birds instead
and made grass angels.

there was a cemetery day
when we threw stones in the quarry
thought seriously about diving in
and promised to one day.

there was a cemetery day
when the cicadas sang high
where silk flowers caressed the graves
and we danced like children often do.

there was a cemetery day
when we stood between our cars
anticipation under the haze of the streetlight
and you almost kissed me.

there was a cemetery day
when my head was reeling
realization breaching my skies
and i didn't want to go.

there was a cemetery day
when we drove until we couldn't
sunlight scattered in our quiet
and you thought about our fingers interlaced.

there was a cemetery day
when we lay out on the dock
the one that floats just off shore
and you caught me as i fell.

there was a cemetery day
in the heat of july
when the shadow dreams called
and you fell in love with me too...

I wanted so badly to touch you,
that night in my car,
I wanted so badly to touch you,
just my hand on your arm.

I wanted so badly to speak to you,
to say something cute,
I wanted so badly to speak to you,
but in awe of your beauty
my voice was stricken mute.
Dumbstruck-- I was struck dumb,
by the power of your presence,
my heart and lips grew numb.

I wanted so badly to hold you,
that night in my car,
to sing you a love song,
or hum a few bars.
But I didn't do that,
No, I must have been slacking
thats why I'm out here at midnight;
not begging, just asking:

If you're not busy tonight
with other boys,
If you will sit and listen;
I have retrained my voice.
It is not weak, no longer out of bounds,
and with it I wish to speak,
to make cohesive sounds.

Today, today
I threw away
everything in my life
that was taking up space;
I dropped what I was doing
and I prepared a place
for you
now there's room enough
for two
you can be with me and
I'll be with you.

Tonight, tonight
I'll do everything right
call you cute pet names and
kiss you softly in moonlight
I will kiss
and I will hold you
and softly I will say,
"For you, my dear, for you
I threw everything away."

I am an idiot child
walking down an abandoned railroad track
with an eye of bewilderment and
a mouth full of gibberish.

I am a clumsy acrobat
swinging aimlessly from the ceiling
with a coat on my back doused in gasoline.

I am a ***** escavator
with two fists full of sand and
a motor like an elevator.

I am on drunken autopilot
with no hands on the wheel
and my head sloshing vilolently in the sky.

I am the keeper of a hollowed-out heart
with darkness in the center and
plenty of room for spare car parts.

I am the staggering contradiction
of the paralyzed adventurist,
too sick to cry for help and
too scared to defend myself.

Last night I
Buried my dreams underground.
Fleshy as a corpse
Edgy like the corners of a time capsule.
Once my cup was sloshing round,
Now it's barely half full.

This morning I
had almost forgotten what had happened
But I heard muffled sounds.
They were still alive.

It made me wonder about
What it takes to suffocate
A dream.