I don't need the stars aligned
I don't need the perfect line
I don't need a ******* thing
Just treat me nice and kind

I don't need a million words
I don't need a perfect world
I don't need a ******* thing
Just tell me what I'm worth

It never ceases to amaze me
How much people need
I think they're crazy
But maybe that's just me

I don't need a hero's heart
I don't need shooting stars
I don't need a ******* thing
I just need you to be who you are

Last night was hard for everyone, for all of us
The moon noticed your obvious absence and lit bright trying to trace you from every corner of  the universe
the stars were sad and they tried so hard to blink back their tears
even the nimbus clouds detected the heartbreaking melancholy
and tried to blanket them from the chilling cold of solitude
but the twinkling stars still struggled to peep through
the blanket cast between them and your absence
like little children afraid of the dark until the clouds gave up
for even they ,no matter how strong they pretended to be
the weight of despondence got the better of them
and they subsequently expressed their pain in burdened tears of rain
the roof tried to hold the tears from my unconscious sight
but my ears sadly caught the pattering sobs
darkness whispered some advise but my ears were too sad to hear
and my brain numbed by the scintillating thoughts about you
I tried to kick out the emptiness through listening to the radio
but my fingers were too frozen and weak to turn the ****
so I gave up and just sat quietly inside the net listening to a silence
whose eloquence was labyrinthine and discombobulating
because weaved within mosquitoes did their best to sing me a lullaby
but in anger I violently swatted as many and as many did die
it still was hell hot with my limpid Heart ice cold
yet I still hoped against all odds you would appear
I waited for you like Santa waiting for Christmas,
like anxious Jews waiting for the coming Messiah,
like the Mediterranean sea patiently waits for waters of the Nile,
like a Groom waits for his Bride as she walks across the isle,
I waited for you like a lass waiting for a Telenovela...
or a staunch catholic waiting for a positive eventuality to his Novena,
I waited like the minute hand waits for the second hand of the clock
like the dull pulse of the heart waits to happen after the loud one...
I waited for you like an insomniac waiting for sleep,
sadly sleep never came... so I gave up to wait for the next day
like the invisible sun through a night knowing in the dawn my voice
might reach you like beautiful rays and whisper
to the far that is near how I wish you were here
in a message right into your small pretty ears
I missed you like a baby misses its mother,desperately and in tears

I was chicken
dropped only a half tab--a quarter before midnight  
and hurried back to my apartment
before the day changed    

from a Monday
to a ruby Tuesday  
where my walls melted
and music smelled like sassafras;
the flickering flares of light from two fat candles  
tasted like toasted almonds    

every eternal hour, or minute,
or so, I would try to tiptoe down the hall  
past the sleeping neighbors who were all dreaming
of me, skulking past their locked doors

but I never made it to the street
a feat that would have demanded
I stop giggling, and my heart stop thumping
for any pig or narc could have seen
my crimson machine pumping
ready to fly from my chest    

dawn did finally come--I was
coming down, down from the floor
on which I had lain from the minute
a ferocious fly dive bombed me
somewhere around three  

I walked to the corner grocery store
where I bought pan dulce, and was glad the clerk
spoke no English, for surely she would have asked me
to tell her how I survived such an aerial assault  
in peacetime

I am space
Expansive
Not expensive
No price to put upon
The wonder of infinity
You gaze upon
It is free to see
All that celestial beauty

Small Colorado mountain library
Had too many books, I guess
And was selling them, a bag for a buck
So I threw a handful in a bag
    I wanted to read
But also, some fifteen cent gambles
Which happened to include
"The White Pony: An Anthology
Of Chinese Poetry" 1947
A compilation of poems
Translated into English
Some brilliant
Some three thousand years old
Or older
(No one seems to know)
Some notes in the margins
And underlined by a previous owner
(Also brilliant)
And this fifteen cent investment
Is opening a world of old masters
Who can speak to me
From their world of wars
Concubines and starvation
To my domestic modernity
With ease
With celebration
Of life's simple things
These are not foreign souls
Masters, yes
But utterly relatable
From their quiet reflections and virtues
Under the peach blossom tree