there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****** and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to ***** up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

there is always somebody or something
waiting for you,
something stronger, more intelligent,
more evil, more kind, more durable,
something bigger, something better,
something worse, something with
eyes like the tiger, jaws like the shark,
something crazier than crazy,
saner than sane,
there is always something or somebody
waiting for you
as you put on your shoes
or as you sleep
or as you empty a garbage can
or pet your cat
or brush your teeth
or celebrate a holiday
there is always somebody or something
waiting for you.

keep this fully in mind
so that when it happens
you will be as ready as possible.

meanwhile, a good day to
you
if you are still there.
I think that I am---
I just burnt my fingers on
this
cigarette.

the women of the past keep
phoning.
there was another yesterday
arrived from out of
state.
she wanted to see
me.
I told her
"no."

I don't want to see
them,
I won't see them.
it would be
awkward
gruesome and
useless.

I know some people who can
watch the same movie
more than
once.

not me.
once I know the
plot
once I know the
ending
whether it's happy or
unhappy or
just plain
dumb,
then

for me
that movie is
finished
forever
and that's why
I refuse
to let
any of my
old movies play
over and over again
for
years.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

Tomorrow, I will sing a song,
Tie every note,
and sing as if it were the epitome of beauty,
Tomorrow, I will sing a song,
Full of he said, she said,
Full of me wanting to believe,
in my so-called reality,
Tomorrow,
During noon,
the wind's grasp upon me will be cold,
like the nostalgia I have for last year,
Cold,
like how I've been imagining their words,
if they were spoken to my face,
rather than read through text,
Tomorrow,
Predictably,
I will sing the saddest song,
A song that reeks of blue,
and looks like a mixed emotion,
sounds like a cliche,
I know,
The lyrics will be about distance,
how they kidnapped my favorite person away from me,
How the moon still feels lonely,
even when the sun comes up,
and glances at the moon for a second,
because though the great big star rises,
the moon is still alone,
people sleep and don't pay attention to the beautiful blank moon,
but when the sun comes up,
everyone's out and about,
The moon is the definition of solitude,
a poet once explained how my soul is not satisfied,
and it is true,
I have cursed at the stars that do not comfort the moon,
for the moon seeks comfort,
not neglect,
I can hear the moon speak to itself,
saying,
I might've loved the sun,
I might've not,
oh, but how I loved the sun,
yesterday,
let me go back to yesterday,
So the moon can spend its last night under the bright stars,
dancing by herself,
So the gentle whisper of the wind will feel like a soft touch,
rather than a punch in the stomach,
Yesterday,
Let me go back to yesterday,
To when the moon speaks her last fluttery words of her joy, the sun,
Yesterday,
To when I wrote my last poem,
With the cold hands I bared,
when I carved the name of the sun onto an ice cube that could not melt into my aching pores,
yesterday,
it feels like today,
Let me prepare for tomorrow's song,
For the moon,
Until then,
I'll stay here in today.

Oh,
Little does she know,
And little does she see,
She's the one I want,
And I want to be with her for eternity,
And I,
Can't find my place,
But she seems to be the space,
I want to be in,
Lord, lord,
Now,
Help me now,
I can't believe she picked me,
Oh,
She picked me,
Why did she pick me?
Oh,
*She picked me.

A ripple in a calm lake,
My almost constant headache,
Almost because it's only when we talk,
via Facebook,
And few words spoken,
Eye to eye,
Headache,
Because I almost pull my hair out,
From her lack of words of her own,
While I ramble on,
Like this poem,
A foreign country,
But somehow feels like my bed,
Same butterfly-printed blankets,
White linen sheets,
And purple pillow,
A brown-eyed girl.