I fear that I my so secretly a cat person be
that I, myself, know yet not of it!

******, Steve!
You're supposed to prove me wrong!

History jokes are indeed proof
that comedy
is tragedy
plus time

its a daily struggle
you don't wake up one day
and the pain is gone
you have to fight it away
every single time you breathe
and whilst doing that,
you also have to smile
because you can't let people know
just how helpless you are
you can't let people realize
that you're weak
because they'll use it against you
they always do
so you put on a brave face
and mock your own pain
in the hopes that it will throw them off
the scent of your bleeding body
and the truth is, in all honesty,
you need so much more help
that you let people understand.
you're taking painkillers
when your body doesn't hurt
which is ironic, because i suppose this means
you're sicker than you thought.

Two flames
With equal elegance
and surrounding colors,

Wood underneath,
And posterior ashes
Which turned from the fire,

Becoming something else;
Transforming together,
With patient speed

And light that shines
To those surrounding --
Often overlooking

The beauty
Which resides
In the flames at night;

For they are not flames
At all,
But are you and I.

standing at water's edge
good-bye, momma - I'll always love your straight-face discipline
goodbye, poppa - whose handsomeness I never knew nor saw




nobody'll see me camp out alone on the common
tiny-tent to keep my limbs from cramping morning-mist
maybe some stray-mutt to be (f)ears to intruders
perked-up coffee in tin-***
and baked-beans from a tin, I'll share my bounty
with the dog and bramble-bush




I'm not afraid if the dark
   which waits in timely-blocks
   never overwhelms
I'll meet that sky at midnight and greet the stars in bloom
   their twinkling-smiles will warm my eyes
   and scoop away all lone thoughts
I'll siphon inspiration from the sighs of flora
   inaudible yet felt
I'll huddle not away from any lesson
             *even second-hand




my weapon will be prayer
mouth-***** tests the waters
sends a tentative trill into heightened-silence
      rippling on surface
      embracing the dark
Joe felt that God was there.. the boss
fussing over all his creation
yet, he felt alone on the pier that day
with not one soul..
        to stop the tides from swallowing his tired-life
        to love the gauche-grit inside his gifted-cage
        to hear the silent-scream of fretless-agony
        to sense the dripped-disparity of favour
turning face upwards and smelling fresh sea-salt
he closed his eyes so slowly
and let the wind rip it away from him..




nobody had heard him play Bach on his guitar
finest poignant tone
all the suites and minuets in glory to the one
    yet among the many passing, there was one listener
    a quiet boy whose senses touched celestial-note
most mothers warned their children to stay away from Joe
save this lad to inherit misunderstood genius-scribbles
as Joe's blue book held more than just music of old-siècle
to be legacy in the talent-hand of open-heart apprentice



and my penciled-in landscape grows incisors
from the sharpness of your colour
as I camouflage my strained-song
in seeming-vibrancy of words
merely purloined from the deepest
of
your quiet-sighs


S T - 20 December 2013