My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
     universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
     reach my hands and play with pebbles of
     destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
     reading "Keep Off."

My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
     in the universe.

I've already smoked most of my cigarettes while the night (along side my six pack of Angry Orchard Hard Cider) is still young.
The stars are outside
and in a few moments
when my head clears a bit I will join them.
I have so many places I could go.
In fact, the options are limitless.
There's the church parking lot across the street,
or the forest beyond it, hiding pleasant little benches to sit upon.
There's my favorite spot as of late
which is simply a bucket which sits next to my truck which sits in my parking spot on the street.
There's always my truck, which could take me to many far away places but I've already had a few beers and don't trust myself to that.
I could stay inside, and not greet the stars.
I could simply stuff a towel under my door, turn the fan on, face it out the window and smoke
but the house is stupidly hot and the stars, I would miss.
I could also stay inside,
write what i call ****** poetry
and what one beautiful girl cried about
and not smoke.
Bud *******, I want a cigarette.
Looks as if the bucket will be seeing me soon.

I ache

smiles glow like mobile little campfires
warming the room
comfy, cozy. home.
you are home in this place, because they're here.

arms wrap around shoulders and hug
them tight
comforting, together.
you belong here, because they're here.

eyes closed in laughter one minute
sparkling with care the next
depth, affection.
you are loved here more than anywhere, because they're here.

you breathe the air and taste the
sweetness of familiar voices,
snuggle into the cadences and timbres
instantly recognizable as
belonging.

this is a special place,
this place where you belong.
this place where you're together.

like an old favorite blanket
you have given the memory to me
of belonging with you
to wrap around my shoulders and
hug close when I am touched
by the chilling fingers
of sadness.

I ache
because I miss it, yes
but mainly because
it is such a beautiful thing
it hurts.

You,
You and those pale blue eyes of a full moon,
How I cannot stop thinking of you,
For some reason you've entered my mine like a scar on my body,
There is no erasing or forgetting,
I've locked you into my heart,
I cannot bear to think of letting go,
The infection has spread and I've been shot by cupid's bow,
But our fairytale is beginning to end,
You are not the once you I first met,
And I'm hurt and terribly mistaken I fell for a ruse,
A **** ruse of promise,
Now I'm alone and unsure of what I've gotten into,
A long summer ahead, of fear and unsurity of what next step I may have to take,
I don't wanna lose you, just win what I somehow lost,
I wanna whisper lost secrets in the edges of the night,
And look towards a morning of more you, The you I once knew,
Please make it all come back soon

54

If I should die,
And you should live—
And time should gurgle on—
And morn should beam—
And noon should burn—
As it has usual done—
If Birds should build as early
And Bees as bustling go—
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
’Tis sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with Daisies lie—
That Commerce will continue—
And Trades as briskly fly—
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene—
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

So much have I forgotten in ten years,
So much in ten brief years! I have forgot
What time the purple apples come to juice,
And what month brings the shy forget-me-not.
I have forgot the special, startling season
Of the pimento's flowering and fruiting;
What time of year the ground doves brown the fields
And fill the noonday with their curious fluting.
I have forgotten much, but still remember
The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.
I still recall the honey-fever grass,
But cannot recollect the high days when
We rooted them out of the ping-wing path
To stop the mad bees in the rabbit pen.
I often try to think in what sweet month
The languid painted ladies used to dapple
The yellow by-road mazing from the main,
Sweet with the golden threads of the rose-apple.
I have forgotten--strange--but quite remember
The poinsettia's red, blood-red in warm December.

What weeks, what months, what time of the mild year
We cheated school to have our fling at tops?
What days our wine-thrilled bodies pulsed with joy
Feasting upon blackberries in the copse?
Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days,
Even the sacred moments when we played,
All innocent of passion, uncorrupt,
At noon and evening in the flame-heart's shade.
We were so happy, happy, I remember,
Beneath the poinsettia's red in warm December.

I plucked my soul out of its secret place,
And held it to the mirror of my eye,
To see it like a star against the sky,
A twitching body quivering in space,
A spark of passion shining on my face.
And I explored it to determine why
This awful key to my infinity
Conspires to rob me of sweet joy and grace.
And if the sign may not be fully read,
If I can comprehend but not control,
I need not gloom my days with futile dread,
Because I see a part and not the whole.
Contemplating the strange, I'm comforted
By this narcotic thought: I know my soul.