What we ******
Through tongue and teeth
Weaves the truth of reality
And what we say, comes to be
But never with any certainty.
If you change what you speak
What you are, will cease to be
What remains, a memory
Just the way, that you believe.

All the world, a stage
And all the stage, an act
And all the act, a script
And all the script, a lie
And all the lie, the world!
The audience directs
while the actors watch
The globe theater of
ever-changing roles
Auditioning for parts
Without knowing their lines.

I'm so in love with you,
and all the little things, that you do
It wasn't too long ago
When times weren't so low,
At a time when you loved me too.

Why don't you come and stay for a while?
I'd **** just to see your bright smile,
We'll lay in the shade
and without thinking I'd say
Why couldn't you pick up and dial?

I know that you're so far away,
It'd be ludicrous to ask you to stay
I know that that you're gone
That my boy's been moved on
And he has no more time for play.

It must have been a tough call
because somewhere between summer and fall
You've found a new girl
with Goldilocks curls
and she doesn't look like me at all.

I don't need to hear your sad pity
but you used to say I was so pretty.
You don't miss me one bit,
so on branches I'll sit
and think of trees in New York City.

Your son's face looks just like your own
and god, I've never felt so alone,
The weeds cover the flowers
where we'd chat for hours
My arms were always your first home.

There on my chest
And the valley below
Lay before me a man
Who himself was a window

A peek through that window
Would let me see
All the things I wanted
For him and for me

So when I discovered
I thought it queer,
that I was the window,
and he was a mirror.

I'd rest my mind
On bouncing knee
Use polish rag,
to make it clean
Every nook,
clean with bleach
Each idea
and memory
And although I know
I'd love it's shine
Without tarnished thought
It's a brain not mine.

The divine DNA,
the handcrafted man,
the miniature God,
of his father's hand.
One may start to ponder
As we cut down trees
that we chose instead
to become worker bees.
We could have been gods
Mount Olympus would dance
We sacrificed Eden
to become little ants

I write in hopes that someone,
Somewhere in time
Has neurons moving
In the pattern of mine.