if i were a piece of furniture i would probably be a table
though my edges are coarse and the splinters would sting
i'm not much to look at and not the most comfortable
but i could very easily hold most all of your things
if i were a table i would most likely go unpolished
though a sealed satin finish would do me some good
if your friends had their way they would see me demolished
but you can appreciate all of my rough-hewn wood.
someday i might get a bit of sandpaper and stain
and show you just how stunning i can possibly be
i'll bring out my surprisingly uniform grain
and you'll wonder just what your world was without me
but for now i'm just a rough-cut accoutrement
that sits in your dining room waiting to earn your sentiment

I had a scary dream once
But it’s a dream that makes sense now.
In that dream,
The government set up a “program”
Where when you reached the age of 50 you were “terminated”-
In that dream, I was trying to hide my “loved” ones
As the government soldiers came to get them.

Every day after school, I go to Barnes&Nobles; to study
And read up on books I can’t afford to buy. And every day around
4:15 PM, these two old retired couple come in to read
And eat. The same routine every time; the wife points out where
They’re gonna sit (9 times out of 10 it’s the same table as yesterday).
The husband then goes to order their small size drinks and two cookies.
When he comes back, he grabs a stack of magazines and they just flip em’-
Sit there with a dull look on their faces and read for hours.
Amazed, I ask myself silently each time when I see them,
“so this is what life amounts to?”

I now see the government’s point.

B cup
C cup
but D cup, the better.

A nip,
a tuck—
reverse the clock.

For beauty’s the past,
and beauty’s the young.

Thus,
reupholster the fruit of the womb
and iron the sags low.
Recapture the past glow,
for after all,
the future is wherever you don’t exist yet.

You downed that liquid courage like there was hope at the bottom of the bottle,
And each glass that lay strewn across the floor reminded me
That this house we tried to make our home was nothing more than a wooden box
Which would, at any moment, collapse and become a casket for two;
The final vessel and resting place of our love.

I filled with tears the remains of what gave you peace every day,
Hoping you would think you overlooked a carton and had some more indulgence to enjoy,
But you knew something was different about what was left after the first time through;
And you looked at me suspiciously from that day on,
Knowing full well that you had changed something in me, and I in you.

You spoke those words with the tongue of a snake, the sting of a scorpion;
Deep into the tissue that poison traversed and tainted -
A wound so deep that it bled out quick and left me feeling drained and dry
And hollow like the ground before death calls it home;
Reassuring in me that the ghosts that were haunting me were real.

I swam to shore alone that day, tired, sore and breathless,
But when I looked back across the horizon I couldn't tell where the sky met the Earth
For everything was a reflection of everything and everything was still;
Much like the heart inside this cage you rattled so hard it broke,
Tearing the bird from it's nest and hanging me out to dry.

Maids, not to you my mind doth change;
Men I defy, allure, estrange,
Prostrate, make bond or free:
Soft as the stream beneath the plane
To you I sing my love's refrain;                                  
Between us is no thought of pain,
Peril, satiety.

Soon doth a lover's patience tire,
But ye to manifold desire
Can yield response, ye know
When for long, museful days I pine,                          
The presage at my heart divine;
To you I never breathe a sign
Of inward want or woe.

When injuries my spirit bruise,
Allaying virtue ye infuse                                            
With unobtrusive skill:
And if care frets ye come to me
As fresh as nymph from stream or tree,
And with your soft vitality
My weary ***** fill.

love
without it a we cannot live
but love...
four letters,
one syllable,
a world of meaning.

love,
it can be no more simple than two children sitting on a bench
but o the complications,
be they numerous or scarce
act as simply the repair of bone, further reinforcing it,
and allowing strength for the future.

but love is not merely the bone of the life it permeates.
it is the blood,
the flesh,
the life and the soul.
without it i cannot live..

TWO loves had I. Now both are dead,
And both are marked by tombstones white.
The one stands in the churchyard near,
The other hid from mortal sight.

The name on one all men may read,        
And learn who lies beneath the stone;
The other name is written where
No eyes can read it but my own.

On one I plant a living flower,
And cherish it with loving hands;      
I shun the single withered leaf
That tells me where the other stands.

To that white tombstone on the hill
In summer days I often go;
From this white stone that nearer lies
I turn me with unuttered woe.

O God, I pray, if love must die,
And make no more of life a part,
Let witness be where all can see,
And not within a living heart.

I am a frivilous liar.
They fall from my lips,
buttons from a blouse,
sprinkles from your birthday cake.