You made it
onto my paper
from
in between my ribs
to
in between my lines
&
all I can do
is sharpen my pencil
every time
I reach the end
of each stanza

I think you've forgotten who you are
the same way- I've forgotten how to be
living- life, it is so essential
but here the two of us sit,
and our sunken eyes
seem to make silent conversation
as we both wonder- how has it come to this?

I also think you've forgotten how to feel
the same way- I've forgotten how to see
friends to lovers to enemies, we've let it rip us apart
and we shuffle beside one another
seeking something,
and both hoping- it will be enough

The path we need to take is covered,
without a doubt
but, I think we both can agree
numb amongst it all- we can't venture alone
together, it will always be better than being lonely

is in the spaces between the words where the unspoken
can make imagination leap oceans in a single bound

let us be a tad explanatory,  
the accuracy of hi)s(tory,
starts with the evolution
of his revolutions,
his tree rings are
2.481481 multiple
of some of you
and this vantage point
just is,
neither dis or ad

my window fire escape is in NYC,
mon arrondissement est Le UES,
my-e-scapes, my e-names,
multiplying and manifold,
all revealed and revered,
even the state sanctioned one,
the nomination law-approved,
all are in the consciousness and the conscience
flowing in his thousands of writings,
all delivered
by the ancient viaduct roman
in the cerebrum of him
by the whim,
by the command of muses,
by their voices becoming,
now residents in his head

those tasking demanding, never satisfied,
poetry gods/goddesses remade the human,
plucked him to be a science project,
began by teaching him observation,
the meaning of colors
in comprehending feelings
by employing the senses five,
working as a team coordinated,
a team of superheroes
(POW! BAM! SPLAT!)
armed with the powers of
kindness, modesty and a
love for the sensuous,
that speaks volumes sensual
with no words, and the sound
on low
and together then, extract
the elements and plaster all into story
with the truth and fantasy interspersed

all his accumulated lovers,
future current and past,
look over his shoulders
as poet composes
suggesting constructs and textual emendations,
this's and that's, and don't forgets,
and some,
what does it matters...to this unusual text

fear nothing, except restraint, make knowing distance,
a precarious safety net, at best, no, not your best friend,
safety comes from the roots of who you are,
and so simple, there they are, written out for you,
in a thousand plus easy to follow steps

it is not distance that's the issue
reminds me, Herr Professor Albert,
(who takes the fall colors thru his eyes)
but time, yours, his, the chiefest enemy,
unless you can bend its curve
in shared poetry intelligible and cloudy
<•>
4:14am

what do you call that--in the morning?
between dried citrus fruits, orange and
lemon pinwheels strung on fishing wire
persimmon and crystalized cinnabar
soft bread rolls wrapped in muslin
with filtered sun refracting
through the crown glass
around her head like parhelion--
and she touches the spices
sumac, saffron, fennel, mustard seeds
and she touches the dishcloths
and she touches
and she touches
and she touches.

Finally,
my eyes unglue from the night
and the light seeps through like a sad song.

and it was not so long ago when I knew it all,
but even angels fall and I've never been
one of them,
so
unglued I fuse, replaced to face a Sunday which
plays a background symphony,
Mahler's number five and that Summer composition
makes me glad to be alive.

watching geese flying
in formation,
to a southern destination
nature's perfect way of saying,
have a perfect day