I rotate around you
on a slanted axis that
shows you more of my left side
and less of my scarred eyebrow.

If I were a whale
my phonic lips could sing
the distance away
through an acoustic habitat

but I must rely on outer space
to deliver my love call
in tact - for I cannot shout
loud enough,
I am too human

I am too small
for this love, I can't make
it reach you,
you're too far away.

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.