When he got sober no one seemed to care. While he got clean everyone drank and ignored him. Back when he was drinking he would ignore everyone because most seemed to have a problem with his drinking. He never pressured or told anyone anything others seemed to give him ****.
He moved on since he was tired of being excluded and held to some ridiculous standards that had nothing to do with him. Being quiet and observant so many people would cut corners or try to pull a fast one. His mind clear way sharp compared to before.

He woke up from a crazy dream not able to move.
Anxious about his transplant
Did everything the doctors asked
Now it's a waiting game on the sidelines
Went to work early thinking the schedule was the same I was extra early
Tired of picking up the slack
Last year alienated for having cirrhosis
Thankful for the help still able
Not crippled feeling the pressure
Now staying on top of this work load
Having weird dreams not able to understand
Always determined to do and be better

~
lost library books
and broken lunchbox thermos,
her childhood under a forgotten
leaf on a pond.
she's attracted to the sound
of the breeze through her hair,
inner-city birds recommending
she listen with her head underwater,
to experience it as a fish might.
this is inescapable.

blood roses in the snow,
her unemployed martyred
fingers in the factory.
the manufactured years go by
at a price too great to recover from.
for every flash of beauty,
there is a hint of anger; a dash of violence.
this is inescapable.

her sleep-flower recital
in a dew-swathed spring morning hospital,
some kind of faraway pink funeral for
dead trees and traffic lights.
treasure impaired clouds capture
an isolated moment in time.
perhaps several moments.
perhaps several parts of the same moment.
this is inescapable.
~

It's a shame,
That roses have thorns,
But nothing's ever easy,

We're the same,
We learn to crawl,
Before our footing's steady,

Through the pain,
We all learn,
To find the meaning of beauty,

Thus, you came,
And made me fall,
And love is what you taught me.

Morning was sudden-made as an onwardness of hills,
Meant for donning crusade in chainmail glistenings,
The sun visored in misty slats of cold steel,
To glimmer fusty through the godded grove,
A holy sepulchre, earthly-dim to its rafters of oak,
Where the forest-fall of sunlight shed its rosework,
And a red-breasted bird, its song-flight of dappled gleam,
And in the meadow, where colorful whorled the tale of Saladin,
Wayside flowers shook beneath the destriers' cloth caparisons,
A sunny fullness of vales for the crusaders' forest-heartened lungs,
And when this furthering of sights was sunken from,
Still an onwardness of hills to Jaffa like steppingstones.

Love is a thousand women who fail to amount to one,
Peasant seductress with bared shoulders of red dun-colored roads and candle smoke,
Who pours down her wet, ungoverned hair, like a fast-fading storm to dry over Aurelian walls,
In that dark sneer of sultriness over the sentry-like stillness of ramparts and stone,
A wasp in water whose sibilance comes from what the sting makes,
Like the upgathered phalanx of spears in the sand,
Or the sisters of fate who have coiled their hair as sunset snakes,
Her fingertips ***** into me like much-traveled and ancient rain.

I want to be your
lumberjack.
I'll wear red flannel shirts all
the time, and grow a scraggly
beard like Thoreau.
We could cuddle by the
fireplace on
cold winter nights.
You can grow a garden,
with potatoes and asparagus.
We can climb mountains
and hunt bears.
I could make a rug from
it's hide, and a necklace
from its claws.
I want to be your lumberjack.
In the summer,
we could skinny-dip in the
pond, by moonlight and
make love in the
dew soaked grass.
we could have a
coonhound named Festus,
and gobs of kids.
I would build a tire swing in an
old Oaktree.
**** this ****** city
with it's treachery and
its concrete.
Lets go where the fire-flies live.
I want to be your lumberjack.

Alone in the woods on a late spring day.
Pensive, I passed time.
You were stopping wet that
April evening when the rains came.
Even after 10 years,
******* you was like unwrapping a present on
Christmas morn.  I was always
surprised, and never disappointed.  
I feel
anointed to find someone as
beautiful as you.
The touch of you and the taste
of you, is forever my heart's
sunrise and my dreams come true.  
Enraptured by your two
lips, I could sip on your nectar
forever, or until I'm alone in
the woods on
a late spring day.