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

I am a setting
Retired to
At the end of day
and end of life.
I am an ear drum.
Banged on by irritants,
long stories,
bad jokes.
I am a reservoir
for your seed and your sweat
The pocket for your
primitive exertions.
I may be encompassing
But I am not all.
Scenery is never captured
By written word well,
But the artist has been trying to catch
it's smirk for a thousand years.

we live in a time,
where tradition trumps mind.

where habit defeats virtue,
where old conquers new.

Mankind is looking dire
So it seems I now admire

the quitters most of all.

On a sticky counter somewhere,
two friends speak
chewing the fat
and spitting the meat.
They'd like to **** girls,
but they'd rather **** dreams.
They tell me so through
whiskey-stained teeth
And I laugh because
It's just a Tuesday to me.
Yes, I've been a dream
and yeah, I've been a tease.
I can tell they want somethin'
But they're getting nothing from me.

O' Liquored Escutcheon!
Please aid me in my plight!
I came for a beer,
and now I fear
I'm here for another night.
While the jukebox is puking
the disease-riddled bodies are movin'
I take a bow,
and I fall down
Someone, somewhere was right.

my grandmother was born
a squalling baby
in the sun of the Ukraine,
her mother too young
and a father too violent.
she led her through the wheat fields
whose long tresses tangled
in her pale ankles
to a pond behind the farm
where she tried to drown her.
a passerby intervened
and raised my grandmother
with his wife up the hill
on their own.

she spent her life
not cursing the hands
that sought to destroy
when they ought to have held
but thanking the hands
that pulled her
from the freezing water
on a crisp morning
in the fields of the Ukraine
lungs still full of breath
and eyes full of trust

I swim through tremendous oceans,
through waters of worry and crisis shoals
paranoia forms a tidal wave,
that threatens to swallow me whole.
The currents are strong against me
to swim, I try my best
and soon I am tired and lost,
and ****** into the depths.
I see anger's buoy beckon,
but I know that is no better.
I can cling to it for long,
but I cannot cling forever
My arms would soon tire
and away, I'd soon be swept
Once more gasping and fighting
Against the gravity of the depths
Lost at sea, is the sailor
who did not follow the sun.
And if he looks down in shame,
He will not see the stars point on.
When rescue ships are far and few
and supplies are back on beach
I sigh and think of shorelines,
that I know are out of reach.
I want to float on my back,
and let the waves take me home,
The search party stopped looking,
For too long I've been gone.
But it takes a strong swimmer
to make it back to shore,
when one is this far out,
and I cannot swim anymore.
As the waves roll beneath,
and try to pull me under
while the gale whips salt
to tear me asunder
The pull grows stronger
and the water surrounds me
and what I long for most,
is that I did not fear drowning.

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.

Propaganda pills
dutifully swallowed
to preserve the integrity
of a world proven hollow
To sieve the spirit
through regulation holes
To protect the body
and to dissolve the soul
To maintain the order
To profit off the rotten
The white man seeks the answer
The native has not forgotten.

The ***** addict has change it's face,
but not it's disease.
It is me.
It is your mother.
It is you.
"It is not."
It is.
And it is infinite.
For so long as people
are burdened by the illusion,
so they seek to disperse the fog.
What they seek is not distortion,
but clarity.
What they seek is not fantasy,
but reality.
A new reality
that works for them.
Where they don't work for it.
Where they don't participate
as a rusted cog
spinning in perpetual circles
to power a machine
that lights a projection
of what ought to be,
and what ought not to be
for all the the world to watch
on hamster wheels.
But  the ***** addict knows risk.
That each time could be
the last time.
But this world has only
two types of people.
Participants.
And non-cooperatives.
There is not room for both.
The ***** addict is offered
a consolation package
of pharmaceutical bonbons
but given the same soap opera
each time.
So they fade into the black
I know it is no cure,
because they are not sick.
It is not addiction,
that they seek to fulfill.
It is peace.
And the current reality
does not allow for peace.
And I just wonder to myself,
if maybe
they are not wrong.

Susceptible to supple pleasures
and carnal desires.
I should be home writing and yet
I try to find my pen and paper in the night.
Ending up in the back of a van,
while hands dig around for kratom
and mouths dig around for justification.
There are so many balloons in here,
I thought it was a party.

A man tilts his head back salivating
and yet I feel unworthy of his presence.
Why did I want to be kissed?
I remember the grabbing,
pulling, biting, panting,
but never did his lips graze mine.
And yet in the ruddy afterglow,
I thought he loved my words too.

A girl spells out her dreams in ink,
her hand moving like it means to catch something
on the tension of water
and I wonder if she ever will.

I find myself sober,
and yet envy the drunk.
We each believe the other,
is not living life.
What evidence do I have,
that I am  not wrong?

Every day is Halloween,
when you recognize the costumes.

Why did my pen and paper lead me here?

I went home and collapsed in dreamless slumber.
I awoke to mascara running and lipstick stains,
a reminder that my job is to be a comedian
for the universe's cosmic giggle.
I reach inside myself for the divine,
but find tacks and taciturn excuses.

I slept for an hour but wept for a day.

Is coping the new
celebration?

Open mouths making o's
Waiting to pour in
the next can of Pepsi-Cola
agape at the sight
like fish feeding
the same stare in their eyes
As they see but do not think
Of the world outside the tank.
Open mouths making o's
Counting down the days
until the next
test-tube cheeseburger
accidentally falls in.
Gotta drink this,
gotta eat there,
gotta smoke that.
So many people grabbing
at the chance to feel full
so many empty hearts
stumble upon each other
trying to feel something.

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 have found a reason to
Spite the freckles on his back
Like china speckled with mud
And I despise the way his
Eyes bore into me
Like an earthworm in loam
digging.
There’s nothing to find here.
His small mouth has a poignant humidity as
It makes its best attempt to consume me
Leaving slug-like trails in its wake
of devour
across my brittle shell.
I sling an arm across my eyes lazily
So I don’t have to see his hunger
But still smell his desperation
he pounds into me like
his sour *** will prove to me something.
His fingernails dig into my shoulders
And he’s trying to pull me inside of himself.
I cannot occupy you.
It is the only way he thinks
He can make me his
But I belong to nobody.
I endure encounters like
I endure watching clouds roll by
Softly on my back with no utterance.
You cannot rule me with your passion
Your wanting kisses and timid bites
Leave your mouth bitter
And alone.

YOUR NAME IS IN MY HANDWRITING
I have made the image of you,
I took it and made it mine own.
Your essence filtered through my view
Your old scent, but not your cologne.
I never liked the way you wrote.
Heavy heathen handwriting
Hedonist mind through spoken quote,
That will leave the body writhing
And render the soul in shivers,
Out of fear or love I don’t know
My lip continues to quiver.
And then you strike the final blow.
I find myself brought to my knees,
Though my posture is of prayer,
The cross is barren and empty,
And I find you no longer there.

Pete and Pauline Porker
Speaking through their snorkles
Double-chinned, wet-lipped
Checking out Facebook fibs
Snarled, yellow,
Tinted-teeth
Buys fudgie-bars
And potpourri
Their greasy-mouths
Spew forth and give
Fountain sodas
of commercial spit.

My arms were crossed,
And the stars were crossed,
So I was cross
That you crossed me
And I crossed the line.

Flowers withered
At your august speech
And at August’s heat.  

Your love is bed sores.
The clothes I’ve worn
Still adorn the hardwood floor.
And on soft, sad nights
In the dark I was sworn
to selfish secrecy.

wine spill on a carpet
cigarette burn on a car seat
rings on a coffee table
crumbs on a stove
jelly fingerprint
toothpaste spittle
sauce dribble
nicotine stain
**** pants

we are just
a little accident
someone is waiting to
clean up
insignificant yet
troublesome.

trying to find the answer,
to the universe,
when it is not a question.

trying to find peace,
solace and purpose,
but finding distraction.

trying to love
the self-loathing
and bold narcissists

trying to find god
in the fine powder
of a street chemist.

trying to find comfort
in hard people,
but finding indifference.

trying to find words
out of turned backs
and stoic silence.

trying to find the way back
when I never
even departed.

trying to find courage
and finding only,
the faint-hearted.

trying to tell the truth
when someone only asked
for a dare.

trying to find a god,
who may or may not
even be there.

And although most days
I find myself deep
in sorrow and mourning,

I would not barter one second,
trade one moment,
for anything.

Hollow words haunt hallowed halls
Of holocausts and hostile walls
The divine demise of dictated opinion
The resentful repulsed by resilient religion
Wrapped in wrath, whispers writhe wildly
Holy hiding henchmen hear idly

When the soft Knoxville summer
Slips it’s way over the Smokies
Ghosts through Gatlinburg
And passes Pigeon Forge
We opened all the windows
And made love in the mist.
I jumped into a gorge
Naked and full of expectation
Washing the sweat that
Only conquering mountains
Can conjure.
I erupted from the water
New and fresh and clean.
While sullen hazel eyes
Watched water drops
Trace down my *******
A siren drying in the sun
On the rocks.
The trees were dying
White and blanched
In Everest emerald green
While the mountains cast shadows.
My love for you much the same
As the quick moving summer.
A lifetime turns into a blink.
Your body pulsates on a rock
Next to the wild Obed
And you are just as untamed.
You had a past you never mentioned
But always remembered
And a father who forgot you.
I collect stones from the riverside
And dream of you being happy.
I lay in a bed of purple honeysuckles
On a mountain bald
And share a bottle of bourbon
With a man hiking
the Appalachian trail.
He tells me he is
Almost famous
And I laugh at the word “almost.”
He plays the trumpet
And moves souls
With every utterance of his lungs.
He continues on the trail
And I never see him again.
We get late night ice cream
And my cotton shirt sticks to me
In overwhelming humidity
And suffocating heat
But I am laughing
And hanging out the car window
Through winding roads
and wild thorns
And summer has ended
And so have we.

The rain drops drizzling
On the aluminum awning
Reminds me of the way your hands
Would gracefully tease piano keys
And make the most beautiful sound.
A man so kind he makes heartbreak
Taste like honey and settle the same way
On your tongue,
A sweetness savored,
from a sour savior.
I sort stale feelings like recyclables,
But can’t bring myself to throw anything away.
The way your floor is littered with pens and pennies,
Makes me think of how when you arrive home,
You empty the day and your pockets onto the ground
In a most imperfect fashion
When you are alone.
A crack in the mask
And a chasm in façade.
I deserve you,
Whether that is as a consequence
Or reward,
I will never know
For so bittersweet it has been to know you.

The words hang heavy
choking, a thick smog,
caught in our throats
while we stumble in fog.
the static is visual,
the answers are not.  
Uncertainty is clarity
when the soul starts to rot
The babble of birds
become songs of gods.
The creek still croaks
that man became fraud

Hodge-podge of strangers
looking at my door
I welcome you.
Let this time in here
turn us to friends.

Let me serve you
on my finest china.

Please come into my door.

Let me take your coat,
tell me, how fine is this house?
and I can tell you
it is truly better
for having you in it.
For every smile shared
under my roof
For every laugh
had in these walls
has given me a home
when I was once homeless.  
For that, this humble one thanks you.
Please come in, for you too are home.
Let it be known
That this is not a dim porchlight
but a beacon
come in, come home
dear stranger
let's go home.

How can man create
by sight or thought or sound
the gentle Buddha's smile
but wear Christ's thorny crown?

For embrace or crucifixion
Do my arms spread wide
Do I live for peace,
or for peace, will I die?

Buddha smiles in agony
Christ suffers euphoric
And man himself then decides
What to **** and what to worship.

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.

The executioner showed no pity,
With an axe as sharp as tongue
And he guards his blade,
And the choices he made,
While maidens prefer to be hung.

He condemns the dark witches,
With a stroke swift and sure.
For he has no time,
To forgive the crime,
Of the enchanting scarlet ******.

And of all the guilty harlots,
One did catch his eye,
As she was brought to the block,
He thought of his ****,
Despite her end being nigh

As she lay her neck bare before him,
He had let down his guard,
And though he felt it was love
He put on his gloves,
And swung the axe twice as hard.

Every moment a growing distance
Whether it be the speed of the plane
Or your apathy.
Your silence still makes the sound
Of a belt being unfurled from your waist
and I cower with trepidation.  
Treat me the way you mean to -
Be as cruel as you intend
Clearly and with no distractions.
**** me and then never talk to me
Until you’re hungry,
Because I can decipher by now
The language of your disinterest.
Stop trying to dress it up -
In “how are you” and
Dispassionate kisses
As shallow as 2% milk.
I’m tired of finding reasons
For you to grip me a little tighter
And say my name more often
And hold me in the dark
And look my way in a crowded room.
I wish you would do anything,
like you really meant it,
whether or not it would hurt.

In my darkest moments
Of loneliness and loss
A vision did intervene
On my journey to the cross
And this beacon gave me cause
to for once stop and turn
I averted my eyes from my path
Unsure of what I'd learn
Light shone through a prism
and filled me like wanting reservoir
each color took my breath away
A light glaring from afar
With trepidation I did move
my feet from intended course
and my desire for the light
overcame my fear of remorse
I begged for the rays to bathe me
in their holy hue
More and more I felt it's warmth,
More and more it grew.
I yearn for it arms outstretched
to revolve in it's cosmic pull
I surrendered my ego to the footpath
and then I surrendered my soul.
I kneel in wistful worship
as solemn as a stone
I've waited for this all my life,
a light to guide me home.

If I have ever
stared into the eyes of our lord,
I know I have seen it

in my son's hand grasping my finger.

And if I ever felt His smile
I know it was
            when I opened my arms wide
            and felt the sun's warmth on tender skin


and I know I felt His mercy
when I awoke
to a brand new day
made just for me.

Made just for me.

The precipice of tense-held breaths
gives way to heated sighs and heaving chests
And long before dawn does break
the evening lingers, long in wait
A compass leads us, waterlogged
through obscure forest and cold damp fog
The needle spins with absurd grace
to each wobbling step and choice of fate
Every direction is pointed wrong
When you know the rhythm, heard the song.
And why use it on paths trodden well?
Seeking baubles and jewels and bridal veils.
Walking in circles, for hours it seems
over crushed velvet and heated dreams
The determination of a scholar, wild
Wasted on the ambitions of willful child
The crystal ball need not be
a window to the future foreseen
For one can simply turn around
to see the future, all lain out.

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.

On the drive to my mother's house
I noticed the streets were alive.
The rural dead was lit up
with sedans and vans on a drive
I thought it strange on this road
when usually, I saw not a soul.
Many mothers just like mine,
must stay in the rural gold.
And I thought myself not quite wrong,
But not quite right, when I saw the cause
They turned to the cemetery on the left
While I myself drove on.  
Many years later, I used my signal,
to tell those behind me of my woe
as I made a left on mother's day
with no where else to go.
I felt the pity of the drivers,
as they drove on past me.
I looked in the rearview one last time,
Full of wisdom, but full of envy.

I built us a home
Inside a globe
And it was small
And confined
But it was ours.
Until one day you broke it
And put sunset eyes on the sea
And headed towards the horizon.
I cut my hands trying to pick up the pieces
But ended up sweeping them away
As they crumbled to dust.
So I set out the other direction
And dedicated myself to topography
Not cartography
Because there are people who own maps
And people who use them,
And I vowed to be surveyor,
And never a historian,
And I vowed to never share a map
With another lover again.

I and you,
You and me
Tangled, tousled
Thrown off sheets

Unraveled, unwrapped,
untame.
Understand?
Uncontrolled, under me
under spell,
and under hand.

Don't lie to me,
but lie for sleep
let morning pass,
and leave us be.

a century for every
year I pretended
we were supposed
to be strangers.
Were I to tear
off my clothing
to bandage you
I'd be left naked
and cold
but sometimes
I feel that is
how you want me.


Running from
and running to
are the same thing,
you know.
And now as we embrace
we have the monsters
coming to consume us whole
at our backs
but in your eyes
at least we go down
together.

I was tired, and looking
for a restful place
for my head
and you thought
I'd sleep forever.

My eyes are open now
and the alarm clock is ringing
and the birds are chirping
and it is dawn,
and I dare not wake you up
as I leave.

I wanted
to maybe hold hands
but it's hard to do
when you're drowning
and trying to keep
your head above water.
Your current is pulling me down
and another riptide
will surely **** me.

Maybe one day,
I'll see you ashore.

Two strangers
desperately throwing coins
in a fountain
from empty wallets
to wish the other
peace and solace
as I check the schedule
for a train that never comes
after a morning of
trying to go back to sleep
to savor a few moments
of a dream I had
about a person I met
who had a smile that
made me think of
clean sheets
and the smell of
butterscotch
and bourbon
and I hear a whistle
down the tracks
at the station
and I can't help
but think of
that one time
I made plans
that fell through
and I had to
mechanically
change out of
a cocktail dress
that I left on the floor
with the other laundry
I can't stand to look at
but can't stand to do
and that I sat at
the bottom of
the shower
but could not
be angry
with anyone
but myself
And I frantically
check the schedule again
and I don't know which train
is not coming
but I know it is mine
and I do not feel late
nor early for it
and a vendor
calls out to me his wares
and a child pulls her father's hand
and a *** jingles coins
in a styrofoam cup
and two lovers depart
on two separate trains
and a man chases one
he missed
and I beg for mercy
that too, never shows,
and I meet two strangers
and throw my last
quarter into the fountain
and I ask that
God saves us all.

blocks of wood that ought to be
bird houses
and cards that ought to be
games
and hands that ought to write
and a heart that ought to love
and a brain that ought to work.
suffocated by half-baked ideas
and canceled plans
and smothered by
dreamless sleep and unfinished projects.
defunct and derelict
the artists grip
slips off the chisel
and nothing looks like the blueprint.
i spent prestige like coins
on a half moment's respite
and a half moment turned to an hour
and an hour turned to two years
cowering;
i am cowering in my own shadow
of what i thought i was
though i know not it's shape.
i don't deserve to be capitalized.
fluidity longs to take shape
but slouches in the mold
a failed and brittle thing.
my neck is bolted on as
i cannot look forward or back.
my respite is over
yet my palms are empty
and my fingers are idle still.
i can only manage to wave.
adieu, my friends,
adieu.

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.

I remember
Smoking a joint
On an abandoned road
At the end of August
Reading the map wrong
And getting lost with you.
The car never worked right
After taking the wrong road.
“I thought this was a freeway.”

I remember
Leaning back
For my first
Divine and mystical tour
And passing you the wand
That would take you there.

I remember
Shaking inside
When you first put
Your hand on my leg
Because it told me
Something was going on.

I remember reaching our destination
And never stopping.

I remember
The first time you used your key
To come home to me.

I remember
Conspiring
And perspiring
On summer evenings.

I remember
Dancing with you
At one in the morning
At a run-down club
And wondering in awe
Our natural rhythm
That was better than the music
And how glad I was
That you were mine.

I remember
The first time
I looked in your
Denim eyes
And my mind quietly whispered
“That’s my best friend.”

I  remember
When I was leaving
With tears in my eyes
Was the first time
You told me you loved me.

And I wonder if I was the only one there.

The vindication of violation,
is etched in our ecstasy.
The insatiable invitation
Looks on longingly,
to be accepted with no exceptions.

Twilight tinctures transforms
to mild midnight musk
by anatomical alchemy warm
In the dark discord of dusk
Our communion is calculated.

Only hedonistic heat
can melt the polite pretense,
Our dialogue is discrete
Left in static suspense.
I dissolve into your delirium.

The intimate impalement
gives way to grotesque gratification
To cure the ancient ailment.
We ignore the implications
Of this meeting meaning more.

As I ride to robust rhythm
My ****** is chaotic
Our communion is christened
in a cry exhausted and ******.
The vulnerability is voided.

Sanguine sighs give way to
Languor in sated lust.
Sweat drops like dew
Upon my breathing bust.
The distance develops once more.

Tired modern gypsy
Hopped up on junk
And street-side bebop
That only he hears
Tells me he’ll read my palm
For a buck oh’ six
Including tax, of course.
He holds my fortune for a price.
He can see clearly
If he drinks his malt potion,
And rubs his magic ball
Behind the dumpster.
He grinds ashen hands together
And it makes the sound
Of a snake hiding
In the grass.
My hands are wet and sweating
From fear or nerves
For who am I to judge
The prophet come.
I show him my hand,
He examines it between his own.
His are covered in dirt,
And stories.
Mine are as clean and pale
As a newborn
Quietly sleeping.
His eyes are rolling
As he drags
Haggard thumb with
Cracked yellow nail
Down the lines of my hand
Muttering in tongues
Or slang
I can’t really tell.
And I reach the pinnacle of fear
That suspends time itself.
“I got bad news, missus,”
He says
And gently closes my hand
With the reaffirming squeeze
Of a mother that wasn’t mine.
“The world ain’t nothing but a giggle,
And it’s all laughing at you.”
He looks out to the sky
And with a loud guffaw
At god himself on the horizon
He slaps me on the back.
“Don’t worry, baby, don’t worry.
We all stuck here.
Even the ones walking.
We all stuck here.”
And this time I looked up at the sky too
And I laughed at god and the madman
Though I knew not which was above me
And which had just held my hand.

I quiver behind
a benzo escutcheon.
Sick of a delicate nature
and riddled with
gentle constitution.
I laugh at the cat that scatters
'til I see it's me.
I numb loud doubts
to soft murmurs
and partake in the marketing scheme
of the terminally unhappy
in grimy hollers of the ******.
Our awareness for sale
seeking happy days at happy hours.
Brown glass cuts my lip
and teeth
as I suckle like a newborn babe
at a maternal **** so I grow
big and strong and brave.
I hope it makes you as uncomfortable
as it makes me.
I chew my pen like a cigarette filter
and wonder which of my emotions
I will exploit for art today.
There are so many words for fear,
and how can I show you something
when I don't know anything
at all.

In Budapest I’d take a lover,
We’d meet outside a ruin bar,
And I’d notice as we stumbled
On the cobblestones
He walked beside me and not ahead.
And we’d **** on cotton sheets
On a twin-sized mattress
In a hostel full of friends
I haven’t met yet
While the city pulses outside
In an unruly procession.
He spoke into my wild hair
That until we must leave Budapest,
We would be wed.
I asked him what would become of us
The next day.
A smile plays on his lips, bemused
With the taut delicacy of stringing a harp,
He tells me, “we will part.”
And I’ve never known a kinder partner
Or a gentler fate
That feels like the dissolution of sea foam
Rather than the crashing of a wave
Threatening to drown you.
He would tell me he loved me
And it was easier to believe from
Someone I’ve known an hour
Than someone I’ve known a year.  
We didn’t leave bed the next day until
Late afternoon.  
We kissed simply and quietly
And yet it drowned out the whispers of the Danube
We clung to each other’s sides
The way a cobweb sticks to the sleeve of a sweater
Sure, soft, and smothered.
The next day I had a bus to catch
And tired eyes.
We checked out quietly and held hands
Until I had to go right
And he had to go left
And we did so with one last caress and kiss
And that was that
And it was the greatest love I had ever known
And I wonder if it were because of him
Or because the future wasn’t around
To complicate it
And that I didn’t know the difference
Between loving with abandon
Or without it.

the day the keyboards came with no question marks
and grammar books grew one chapter shorter
and the 'w's dripped off language
and it all puddled to tar
to seal the cracks
of purpose
and of
man

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.

Walks by when it is raining
And I don’t say a word to them.
And a ghost left his laundry
Where it shouldn’t be again.
The world wants to be my lover
When I only wanted a friend.
And everybody wants to be real
But they can only manage to pretend.

The air in the room is so palpable
I can sink my teeth in it
And roll it over my tongue
Like a cherry candy
Looking at the real world
Through yellow cellophane
That gives it just enough
of an unreal gloss to make me wonder.
And I realize I’m only older
When I’m not falling in love
Or having my heart broken
Because it feels the same after
5
10
20
23 years
And I wonder if I found the key
To eternal youth if not life
And if it’s any different
Then putting together a puzzle
And breaking it apart
Time after time for eternity.
I’ll live forever if I stay with you.
I feel each second on the spectrum
Of a wavelength
I feel us dip apart and pull right back
Closer and closer
As we feel each others’ frequency
Grow higher in pitch
My blood is turning to static
As we brush shoulders on the electron cloud
Only together in an instant, snapshot
Forever apart in the fluidity of time.
And I wonder if you’re making me better
Or if I found a new way to get sick.
You taste like lavender and ashes
And borrowed time
Subtle implications
And of the place I was yesteryear
And the places you’ll be when I’m gone.
And you’re fragrant with the scent
Of your old and future lovers.
And when your calloused finger
Taps my hip bone
Like the strum of an old bass
It is perfectly in tune
With the hum of my throat
And it’s vibration
Sad and sweet
and the most pleasant complication
I've ever encountered.

Though all babies are welcomed
As cherubs and innocent things
All are born of circumstance
Starving soldiers or spoiled kings.
Some children sip from silver spoons
And others taste spoons of lead.
Some mothers pinch round, chubby cheeks
Others cannot keep them fed.
I know my child’s only fault
Is that he was born to me.
Destined never to witness Rome,
Due to my own poverty.
I tell my son what mothers do,
That he can do all he dreams,
But late at night, I bury tears
For someone told that to me.
I look into his eyes like mine,
And wish I’d set my lover free
So he had found a finer half
And loved someone more than me.
I too was born from circumstance,
I too was careful to dream
But still I dream for my son,
Most of all, that he is more than me.