My morning feet ponder the pavement
Lonely eyes saluting the clouds
And the skyscrapers that grasp at the sky
The Tower of Babel
We reached god, and we branded him
Profited on his grace
So now we must build towers that shoot towards the sky
Like the twisting fingers of a falling man

Hello all you beautiful people
that’s how I would start my dissertation
beautiful people with nothing to lose
and everything to gain

while ugly people,
plain people persons like me
have to work so hard, softened, while you,
intent on being beautiful,
are nothing
if not beautiful

My one thought gets lonely when I see you
what ought to be considered entire and whole
will one day also grow old
the beautiful are nothing if
not beautiful

For me thought comes naturally and I
consider myself fortunate as I must be
content at not being beautiful,
am forced to say something so profound
that a phrase line like
“I broke a nail”
is not as life threatening
or
“How about the price of gas”
won’t seem as wonderfully global
as it would from beautiful persons,
intent on being simply beautiful
when beautiful is simple
or vice-verse

Ugly person you see must work at being
charming, quick witted and swift
while you polish nails
I polish my lines for a play in which
the only star is the beautiful person
behind my ugly shell

A treatise on Bach, formal judgments of global peace
Orwellian theory into practice
both animalistic and I-Robotesque
work their way into ugly people conversation.

Not, “the price of gas”
but "why" the price of gas
or *how" the price of gas
and knowing the answers.

Plain persons have so much more going their way
for the effort expended learning something crucial
something literal, may one day eke a way into
beautiful persons conversation
beautiful people intent on being beautiful
are only beautiful and nothing
if not beautiful.

As for the cockeyed slim-jim like me
I’ve got a lot of learning to do
my hopes of ever being beautiful have long since passed
I thank the Gods and technology for the quest to question
and the simple beauty of not being beautiful

For if I knew nothing except how to be beautiful
I’d be lost for last words
and as for being beautiful
I’d be nothing if
only beautiful

you step away from me into your sweet, wild shade
& wrap your lovely being with a dark silence-cloak
you: moon of soft, warm light; you most exquisite girl
avoid my arms of child that hold the rose of love

& then you take refuge behind agonic doors
& wished to trap the wind that play & kiss your hair
& wished to wound the sky with cries of “nevermore”
& with a simple strike you attempt the world to end

you swiftly pass by me  like slender, scented creek
behind the angry wall of this flowery night
worn out, superb and hurt towards the sea of your will:

forgive the loving flame that died upon my arms
forgive this chain of grief that I wove kiss by kiss
forgive this heart of mine that madly love you still