There’s a place of perfect simmer
where the flame runs just so high,
never quite to boiling over,
neither still a tepid bath.
  
At least that’s what you insisted to me
in your frustration at my inability
to find a soft place to land between
pulses of ecstasy and re-heated casserole.
  
Even still you love me
like a whirlwind loves the dust,
gathering it in by picking it up,
steadying it's spin by collecting debris.
  
I thought we would make a respectable tornado,
together, instead I find myself
breaking loose from your gentleness
and destroying homes, alone.
  
If only the weather could tell us whether
we were headed for perfection or destruction.
  
If only the *** I stir could be a crystal ball.

If only I could love you
as much as I do.

since I wept poems freely,
from rise to set,
every breeze, every minute, each bladed grass,
a creation-emotion overtaking

the residue is
every pen dry,
every pencil nubbed,
every free and white
piece of paper,
even all the napkins,
Picasso scribbled

but this one compelled to
rise and set,
before you placed
with a gratitude that
needs no explaining,
a poem,
first and knighted as

Camaraderie

a tired, benighted idea,
oft expressed,
that cannot be contained,
swelling up, chest burn bursting
and it's not yet 600am

but the sun demands
payment for admission to this
morning's performance,
which will never be rebroadcast

so in humility, I
offer up this scrap,
in hopes it earns me
one more show tomorrow
pleasing him,
by pleasing you

we write with many motives,
but this ticket is
for my friends here,
genuine camaraderie that is holy,
sourced from holy water,
"straight from the water"*
within our physical selfs

your arm unasked slung
over my shoulder,
your words my inspiration,
your demands, none,
other than give a listen

which is no demand,
but sweet sugar daily,
crazy stupid flooded
teary-eyed
through words care crafted,
I have found so many
gentle kind
that without hesitation,
I find myself blessing us all
by repeatedly uttering
Hallelujah!