I am weary
I long for sleep
unlike Robert Frost
I have no promises to keep

I feel better in the dark.
I say things, then, that I wasn’t sure of
before I said it

In the light, I tell them lies
But when I slip away into her room at night,
I only speak the truth

We met by accident
She didn’t make me wish for
         innocence
She whispered to me that things were better in between
  And she let me
     She begged me

Fire beckons me, but I’m in love with another
          warmth.
She’s too slick, but I love the sound of
       her laughter,
                her abandon.
She’s ready to hurt, but I love her
        protection,
                 her affection.
She offers me the light,
         and I love her darkness, too.


I want all of her, if she’ll let me see
I’ll stay, anyway
Until she gets sick of me

She wakes me up deep in the night.

I understand you, she smiles
snuggling into me, her nose,
pressed cotton soft on my cheek

I have no strength, I cry
not one, for you

I love your weakness
love you for your weakness
her breath wafts into mine

and the boy stuck in his age
floats in the web
of the girl forever
forgiving.

That hidden* silent something
the heart hankers after
for dear life--would set aside
never, never ever

like the final note, unforgettable
of the symphony in its splendour
the fullest radiance and pride
of the pristine blowing flower-

like the sun clearing its way
from the grey clouds in cluster
to smile for and warmth the waiting earth
to fill it with wonder and laughter-

like you and me still in incompleteness
the last piece to crown our life we are yet after
the patience, the faith, the endurance
to the ripening of hope, beauty and love we surrender.

Penning down the thoughts
Am I not done with the words
Have I used them all?

Round and round
Thoughts and words
In the loop bound

The thoughts have been naughty
Jump off the mind cliff,  doughty
Don’t want to be worded
Flight to nowhere boarded
Off the radar crash land , all spotty

Face up against the window
Eyes full of road, plains grass,
and a far away mountain pass
The sweet smell of summer
creeping through a window
that's slightly cracked
in a beat up old Volkswagen
with a broken 8 track

Mom's sleeping in the front seat
and dad's got some country music
singing sweet serenades softly
through twitchy speakers in a broken
door panel while we work our way
across God's country from
sea to shining sea

There's something magical
about a road trip
black asphalt
and the sight of a farmer's sprinklers
at sixty and five miles an hour
two in the afternoon
on a hot and dusty strip
of road between hotels and night's
long starry pauses
and sun's yawning rises

Nobody loves it more than
little boys and girls in a backseat
with a blanket
a pillow
and some snacks to watch
America come to life on a
window-cranked movie screen.