I want to be
the belly laugh
that makes you
crap your pants
something
both good and bad
because it is more fun
to be both things
instead of just
one.

I want to be
the air you drown in
lost in so much beauty
that it leaves you gasping.
Ears listening. Heart grasping.
Eyes searching
the starry nights
for flashing lights
that we know
have already died.

I want to be the door
to never and always.
take dreams and use them
like a clever lever
to leverage truth and hope
to mortgage poetry and prose
paying the principal and interest
that finally takes us
to a world where
“Star Trek” fantasies
are fully realized realities.

I want to be
the healing hand
that helps you up
and slaps you in the face
to finally force you awake.

I want to be the mistake
that you learn from,
so that when time is
finally done with my
physical form
you will be better for my
poetical existence