You're hurting. You're hurting bad.
I can see it in your bloodshot eyes
And how you shy away from smiles
Directed at you. Now your once-had
Gleaming spirit dwindles as it tries
To cut its pain with bleak exile.

But blood is pumping through your veins -
Don't change its course with nails or steel.
Our love for you will never fade, though
You ask me what I'd do if somone else took hold your reins
And replaced you, thinking that would make us feel
Happier - without you? Never. No.

I feel anger and frustration because I'm only human,
But nothing on this planet makes me happy like you can.
I love you, you know that. Believe that in yourself.
So stay with me - you'll be with me,
a heart within myself.

Seldom seen in the stew of Scranton skies
But there it is
a rubber band of fog  
smudged across black distance...
Myriad-multitudes
They are truly there
Each burning ball
gathered beyond my imagination
by the Moon Mother
Who scrubs the faces
of her little stars

I don't think about it any more
I take out the trash
noting
Sticks caught in the crotch of a tree
The wind does what the wind does
breaks weaker branches down
does not care where
it leaves
them
on its invisible way

Days do what the days do
they don't count themselves
worthy as they go
to release
the afternoon
to evening—
an artless
emptying
to a low spot
where tears tend to pool
if I'd let them down

“You know,
in that low spot
out there...?”
Where it's hard to see
Where its hard to care?

They take heart
out
divide it by energy
for sadness—
I haven't got

Watched the clock go round
wipe out my little plans
with relentless hands

...and I never got dressed today

in the midst of everything
anything can happen
while resting comfortably
in your big home
in your big bed
next to your big wife
while you’re playing with her
cantaloupes and peaches
and you’re either too afraid
when it’s right in front of you,
smudging your shoes or
you’re too busy overwatering
your garden of atonement
and foolishly working hard
for everything and living
for nothing to notice it
as where there are people
dying on the streets
like a used q-tip
on top of the trash pile
who are working for nothing
and living for everything
just to get a little piece
of what we take for granted.