there's a heart that beats
underneath my coat, a single heart with
countless beats, a song that lulls and arouses and interrupts--
interrupts the thrumming of the rain against the windowshield, presses pause on a movie that's gone too bland

there's a heart that beats
and eats
away at my coat, and i sleep away the pain and i awake from it, too, yet later it interrupts--
interrupts the predictability of life and breathes in and bleeds out a staccato of Life, a life that is brand
new

the thing about poetry
is that it's loose like sand.
it slips between fingers
and finds its way everywhere
like the words that seem to ebb
and flow into and out of me,
like the sea of which the sand
shares companionship. you
can't quite contain all that
matter. all that matters you
can't quite contain. the thing

about poetry is that it makes me
feel, even when feeling feels empty
or wrong or redundant or gross and
it really does make me think
that you can't contain and define
all that is there to be said about
poetry. poems are significant
in that they can be insignificant
and again, loose and ubiquitous
like sand. small particles, so tiny
and numerous they matter so much.

and the thing about me is
that i am small but not
ubiquitous. i am not god who
is omnipresent. i am not sand
who sticks its nose into every
single thing and leaves a memory
of sea and space. i am tiny
and forgettable. but in this poem
i see myself, my reflection of which
leaves me until i reach out and it says,
"you are poetry itself."

it's too early to be
thinking so much, feeling
like my thoughts need to be
herded around. and i am
singling out some of them
who've been misbehaving
and i am shouting at them,
screaming, "it is too early
to be a black sheep."

it's 4:32 am, and i am awake.
what for? i ask myself. ah, i needed
a bathroom break, like i always
need a break in life. but to be
frank, life has been great and
life has been good and i am
hoping i too am good
and will someday be
great.

but the thing is, my thoughts
are often precariously swinging
from danger to safety, and
it can be such a sight
to behold, my heart
in my throat, my mind
yelling at me to get it
together. get them
together. my thoughts--

they spin
uncontrollably, like a top
that falls to the ground and cracks
a bit, tiny fragile pieces
swept under the rug.
and my life has never been
better. my thoughts have never been
cleaner, despite the need
to be collected all the time.

i hold you in my arms
and it hurts because
you are the sun

and you hold my heart in yours
and it hurts me because
you squeeze it so tight

my lover, my dear,
my loveliest song,
you are the lullaby i long for
when i can't sleep at night

but you hold me
unlike i hold you
and you hold me
too harshly

you are my lullaby
and i am a strum
of an electric guitar
evoking a singular emotion

that you can't somehow keep

I want to be
the roaring sun
an angry star
a ferocious need, to blaze a path
forward and beyond, dreams
exposed to light and heat
the days no longer
a haze in the night, misty
from a fresh downpour

But I also crave
a soothing touch, a gentle reprieve
a song quietly sung as I
rise and rise and rise
my face bright but kind
my face in yours
my face which is
yours -- like how the stars
belong to the sky