Love is letting them wear your fuzzy socks because their feet are cold.
Love is going to get ice cream at 3:00 in the morning because they had a craving for a hot fudge sundae.
Love is making sure all of the blanket are even before you get into bed because they can't sleep if they're not.
Love is sleeping with the fan on even though you hate the noise.
Love is watching the same TV show with them even though they've watched it a million times.
Love is falling asleep to the sound of their snoring.
Love is waking up to their messy hair and naked face and still thinking they're the most beautiful person in the world.
Love is when being with that person feels like coming home.
Love is being someone's home.

Of you, I am certain


can it snow if the skies are cloudless blue?

will I kiss tomorrow the person sitting bus opposite,
who now gifts me love at first sight?

can my children’s children love me more for who I am,
and not just for who I am?

knowing does true love have an uncertain beginning and a certain end?

would I recognize peace of mind if I ever so blessed, had it in my possess?

if the sun never returned, is happiness possible?

can a broken heart mend itself without new love?

Of all these, I am uncertain. Of you, I am certain!

will this scrip of letters be beloved or overlooked and forgotten?

will the day come sooner when self-rising,
my eyes will be pleased at no new scar ‘discovery.’
my ears hear no snap crackle or pop, and
my blood, pre-warmed, by a lover’s attentions,
to happy coffee cooling and a poem-done at my feet?

will my flaws be healed, scars laser erased, my muddled past,
fall obedient to a blue skies, a white full moon embrace, yours?

will today be the day, two feet identical, left and right banished,
ten new colors invented and rainbow added, and sad illegal?

will I awake somewhere over the rainbow one day,
dreams coming true, troubles melted, way up high?

*Of all these, I am uncertain. Of you, I am certain!

he rises early, well before the premature, minutest hints of early dawn,
cradling tenderized words, from a silent marinating mind withdrawn,
some spices harvested from the soil's mortality of daily strife, others,
manna gifts of wild floral tenderness, plucked from Eve's tree of life

neither gardener nor chef, the fruits of his labor, are product of
a mothers mind's silent back labor, emerging with no notice or invitation, spilt from lips unmoving, eyes shuttered, fingers ungloved
ministering a Temple sacrifice of plain psalms authored but un-titled

some spark ignition causes a key reversal, from motionless to motion,
moving with no in-between, words simmering, from seeds unknown,
the dishe's integrity questioned, but it births itself, uncaring, eagerly, willing copied from cavern decorations of rude, wall drawings

almost fully formed, though untasted and undigested, a savant smell
provokes a leap from placid prone, to upright and seated upon the
throne of his writing desk, can one* *divine a recipe from odor alone,
thus claiming authorship of an untitled dish, one that can't be recreated?

sets it down before you uncovered, with a lustrous screen of silk damask,
plated on Royal Worcester fine bone china, yet, without any utensils,
asking you to ken this work,
*eat this poem, with bare hands,
love it as if it was your own first born,
consumed/consuming
a strange but familiar spirit

2am Friends

winter has set the boundage, bars of chill, escape-urge killers,
self-imprisoned by our ruthless timidity, that both comforts yet,
worse violates our truthful, unwanted inadmissible-neediness by
purging the touches and the knowing kindage, this then,
this preface, your reminding of-as-of-yet untouched,
half-invitational, half-regret, half-cursed, whole red need for
2am friends
to fill the void that poems can n’ere fill

1/1/18

at the point of entry (explicit)

it does not strike me strange
at the point of entry
when the heightened senses and the dark subconscious merge

when the lust and the sweat intersect
with ego desire and self is everlasting everything
that the ***** words secretion is sticky on my tongue

when I pant poems born in rawness and tears
on this the last day of the year
and eyes closed see visions extraordinaire
and the Maker whispers in both ears see!

it is the see of what is me,
it is the point of entry and departure,
one and the same,
conception an immaculate mess,
the emptying and the fulfilling, when unkempt promises
are born free flowing and semi-truths transform into
actualities unforeseen and my child cells of new poems
are injected, stored, awaiting the birthright
and the death of publication,
my moment of privileged perfection passes
and frowns and smiles are
one and the same, silken thread wove open and shut

the precision precious circumcising of flesh and soul departing

the utter collapse from within, the drowning in the amniotic,
rebirthing rebutting my denying that I have no more to give

I believe I belong to you for it is what the desire firing cylinders
say repeatedly in the union of the up and the down cycle:

come, come inside me,
I am the pleasure
you are the treasure
in one cup measured
conjoined container
when the point of entry is the point of departure
and with eyes closed from satisfaction and prayer
I see everything all at the same time, uttering:

I am undone utterly and the difference between
the end and the beginning can be seen only
at the millisecond long seven decade coming
point of entry

12/31/17 5:38am dawn dying and new day mourning

seeking to post, embracing the sprite of send,
**, **, oh no, oh no, my work is roasted,
thy error message says
boy, thy work,
lost, burnt, and toasted!

did not your brother William foretell,
“These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triump die, like fire and powder
Which, as they kiss, consume”
their issue, our poems, explode and die, unsent!

Can you blast us a group message, a fine line of one or two,
what ails the system this politically incorrect discrimination,
some can, some can't, it is a glitch or has our transatlantic
"special relationship" or my operating system,
sunk beneath the clouds?

Post us brother, why some of us can and others not,
post our words which you love so much!