Spring signed her name
with the breeze
Sipping the moon
from a goblet of twigs
Gazed out across her path
Through the streets
By the houses of sleep 😴
Not in a hurry
Maybe no one will see her
dressed in silence and silver

I'm tired of this death match
fighting for my place
amongst the scattered remains
of a
thousand
broken hearts

This is not Sparta
I am no gladiator
and            you            
are
no
prize

He thinks her little feet should pass
Where dandelions star thickly grass;
Her hands should lift in sunlit air
Sea-wind should tangle up her hair.
Green leaves, he says, have never heard
A sweeter ragtime mockingbird,
Nor has the moon-man ever seen,
Or man in the spotlight, leering green,
Such a beguiling, smiling queen.

Her eyes, he says, are stars at dusk,
Her mouth as sweet as red-rose musk;
And when she dances his young heart swells
With flutes and viols and silver bells;
His brain is dizzy, his senses swim,
When she slants her ragtime eyes at him. . .

Moonlight shadows, he bids her see,
Move no more silently than she.
It was this way, he says, she came,
Into his cold heart, bearing flame.
And now that his heart is all on fire
Will she refuse his heart's desire?-
And O! has the Moon Man ever seen
(Or the spotlight devil, leering green)
A sweeter shadow upon a screen?

Masculinity is pervasively formulaic
and just a bull in the forest to me
Women are far more genuinely human
and breathe comparably better air

My mister,
Through bliss and hurt don't we miss her?
Her hair- silky mist
Her eyes- dreary mission wishes
her tears, it seemed, had fallen before the march,
before this hardship.
You carried that torch forever
No one cared but her.
And now such is blurred earth
Until you've become snuffed, wouldn't you be glad to be set fire to?
Starry eyes agaze to a blaze of new desire too
Much higher
High enough.