Sometimes as a poet
It is easier to write
And relate to the things that hurt

Because the heart knows
What it means
To feel -- beautifully terrible

Before I saw you,
I thought poetry
was only words.

Long before “inside” was invented
We were animals
Breathe, roar as one

I walk around like an old man Thanks to a bad back and mirrors

I don’t pay attention to ceilings

I don’t know millions of things

But mankind will label time and space to be productive I suppose

If Color brings context
I am blind
And don’t know what pictures are

Geometry and canvas
I can’t believe it’s not paper

Bring the tribes back with you