Your eyes.
Ooh those eyes!
The gates to my soul
They melt my tough disguise
They reveal my lies
For I cannot lie to those eyes.
Those eyes.
They hypnotise
leave me paralysed
and small in size
Those eyes.
Oh when I look into those eyes
I am instantly stripped from my disguise
And my ego dies.
Ooh those eyes.
They **** me.

I overwhelm with love.
Expressing it freely
because I don't know
how much time I have
left on this earth to say,
"I love you."

So I say it often
and I say it loudly.
I say it boldly
and I say it proudly.
I love too much
because I don't know any other way of loving someone.

You see my greatest strength
is also my biggest weakness.
But most of all
it's my greatest downfall.

And I keep falling.

Somebody painted
a face
on my time
and pretending
that it
was a game,
they numbered
my days
and stood them
in line
and made
every one
look the same.

Somebody gave it
two hands
and a voice
that isn't
allowed
to stop,
it can tell
if Im late
and Im learning
to hate
the sound of
their
tick tocking
clock.

THERE is a wolf in me ... fangs pointed for tearing gashes ... a red tongue for raw meat ... and the hot lapping of blood-I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me ... a silver-gray fox ... I sniff and guess ... I pick things out of the wind and air ... I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers ... I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me ... a snout and a belly ... a machinery for eating and grunting ... a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun-I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me ... I know I came from saltblue water-gates ... I scurried with shoals of herring ... I blew waterspouts with porpoises ... before land was ... before the water went down ... before Noah ... before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me ... clambering-clawed ... dog-faced ... yawping a galoot's hunger ... hairy under the armpits ... here are the hawk-eyed hankering men ... here are the blond and blue-eyed women ... here they hide curled asleep waiting ... ready to snarl and **** ... ready to sing and give milk ... waiting-I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird ... and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want ... and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes-And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart-and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where-For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and **** and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Moment by moment, my love on a veil.
I swim an ocean deeper than the heart that I fail.
I breathe with remorse and regret no one I love.
I hope for a god,
and a backbone,
or lack thereof.

My father is an old truck
Sunbleached red

Breathes broken bottles
A faulty catalytic converter throat
All the smoke trapped inside

But the nicotine helps his brain function

Cinderblock sturdy
But skinny
A single pillar holding the roof up

A man built in a time when you had to tell things it was time to die
Leave them in a field somewhere and forget about

How do you write a love poem to a car of a man
Built in a time without airbags?
A car of a man who crashed with you inside so many times
You learned about rebuilding from experience
From trial and error

And how do you forgive a man who can no longer tell you he’s sorry?

Trucks
Don’t feel
Don’t give up
Don’t hurt you on purpose

Sometimes something inside just breaks
And no one catches it
And maybe you crash
Break a nose
Black an eye

As far as I know
I am not a broken man
But I’ve learned where all the parts go

And if I am my father’s son
A mechanic more often than a car maybe
Then I will be fine

The truck is dying
And beyond repair

You forgive it for that
It is old and past its time

And maybe it can’t say that it’s sorry

But there is a field somewhere that you plan on leaving it
To collect weeds
And rust
And be forgotten

So you forgive it

It was a cold August morning
       and the wind, it sighed.
The mist wrestled the light;
       valiantly, but in vain it tried.
The smartest man of the world
       took one look at it and cried,

How?
       The fiends looked so innocent when they lied.
What?
       The ambitious, so callous when they stride.
When?
       The pious, so righteous when they deride.
Why?
       The pure, so broken, they complied.

He hatched his  plot
       threw trivialities aside.
He dared with a vengeance,
       his actions belied.

How he healed the hurt!
      And he'd hardly even tried.
What a way he sated the rapacious!
     Into harmony they had vied.
When he showed honor to the honorable,
     he was wary not to toe their pride.
And the pure,
     they died.

'Why, then do I now not wonder why?'
     unto the light and mist he cried.
It was a cold August morning
     and the wind, it sighed.