Be composed—be at ease with me—I am Walt Whitman, liberal and ***** as Nature;
Not till the sun excludes you, do I exclude you;
Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you,
do my words refuse to glisten and rustle for you.

My girl, I appoint with you an appointment—and I charge you that you make
preparation to be worthy to meet me,
And I charge you that you be patient and perfect till I come.

Till then, I salute you with a significant look, that you do not forget me.

I take a
Gulp,
To wash the day
Down,
So very far down
And away from the
Hollow faces
And even paler
Words
That permeate the
Malls, halls
And roads that lead to a
Silent kind of slavery.

I take a
Gulp
To sink even further unto
Revolution, evolution
And nausea
As I witness
The knife
And once more into the
Back,
Our collective back,
Unnoticed, uncaring
And almost wished for.

I take a gulp, I take a gulp, I finish it off.

I grab another, I finish it off,
And another and another and another
So that I may succumb to a
Different kind of sickness.

It’s in this “state,”
No pun intended,
That I can finally see –
America’s
An illusion
And my noose is slightly
Looser
Than yours.

One night in the middle of summer,
I was given my favorite dream.
And in it, I was her;
the girl you'd think about when you sing.
I woke up, glazed in melancholy-
in sparkle juice sheen.
And I touched your bracelet to my lip,
the one I stole right before we kissed,
and when our mouths swished
dreamy washing machine.
Cleaned our inner depths of psyche,
anointed with love poison-
unable keep the thoughts of longing, dry,
strong desires are the knife
that cuts the girl from your cloth
the one you think about when you sing,
the one I think you like.
So shredded and clean I bound my lips to you,
I didn't stop until dreams came to life.

All the withered flower crowns have fallen down on trodden ground,
among the garbage disarray of empty beers and cigarettes.
These are memories of drunken folks with tired eyes and weary legs.
Lets lift our heavy waving arms and jump high above the swarm of heads.
The band we like is playing now, but they're so far, we lay instead.
Forget the sheets and towels,
the grass and dirt can grace our skin.
The sound of the bass reverberates in our chests,
This is the best.
Our voices are hoarse from screaming loud and cheering on the gods on stage.
we forget our age, we forget our pride,
we exist as music groom and bride.
Escape all thoughts of work and school.
The grass is cool,
The beating sun has come burnt us all and gone away.
This pending night  has come to chill our bones and remind us we have place to stay.
Let's sleep up now.
Tomorrow, who will we see play?
The final day, let us power through.
Make little histories into me and you.
Dreams and sky only leave our eyes,
when our feet go back to our real lives.
As it ends, she tells us it's sad.
Until this second, I didn't understand.
A festival is a fantasy world,
a dream we'd sleep for as long as our bodies could,
and now it's time to wake up and return.

if
                                                 i
         we
                  re
                                    
                                          to
                        
                           f
                            a
                              l­
                                l
  
                         ­    a                          a
                                    ­                                                      t
         ­                           p                                     ­             
                                                   ­                      r

                                 you'd always be there to catch me.
                            a safe place to land, a safe home to haunt,
                                       your arms are my temple,
                                          your shoulders my fort,
                                               my steady pillars,
                                                     my whole
                                                         world
                                                           ­ in
                                                             y
                                                             o
                                                             u
                                                              r­
                                                             b
                                                             o
                                                             n
                                                             e
                                                             s