I know they're not
accurate.
The fact I frequent
creative results
may be
more or less
coincidental.
After all
who am I
compared to
Jon Stewart
or a Greek
philosopher?

But maybe
I don't care.
Maybe I take them
just for fun.
And who can complain
when they are compared
to Charizard
and Winnie the Pooh?

I knelt down
To scoop you up
With empty hands

Then watched fascinated
As you dripped through
My fingers

With a playful grin
I stripped down
And dove right in

Do I look okay in this bag of skin?
Does it make my stomach look fat, or my hips too thin?
Do I burn your eyes in my porcelain dress?
Should I trade it for one that you less detest?
I shan't ask again if I look okay
I couldn't undress myself anyway

I am he that aches with amorous love;
Does the earth gravitate? Does not all matter, aching, attract all matter?
So the Body of me, to all I meet, or know.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Love its essence doth change
becoming sweetened,
mellow with age.