You have a beard, and I like that  a lot.
It is my favorite thing about you....
Save for the downy hair atop your head, I like that, too.
And your copper eyes; those are nice...
Your big, strong arms and hands are certainly worth noting.
Chest hair, because you're a man... It's pretty cool.

The freckles across the bridge of your nose,
The calluses on your fingertips,
The crinkles in the corners of your eyes,
I guess I'm pretty fond of those, too.

But your smile, I love.
You laugh and I laugh along and life is easy and effortless and kind.
And I want to keep you, and your beard, and your arms, and your eyes, and your smile forever.
But mostly your smile.
I love that.

Malignant, an echo of
calamity
penetrates the aura
of American freedom
as humanity
asphyxiates
an arsenal
of political fascism
shape shifting
into beads
branded by mercury
abomination

A head
A giant boney mass
Many mouths and eyes
           thoroughly babbling,
           whatever,
           etc.
Snapping and blinking
Mouths Melded together on this ultra cranium
Yapping on and on
On and on and on
Yellowed teeth and bedazzled grills
Botnet mods and crop tools

The most dastardly of all -
An infinite production of fuzzy,
Buzzing noise blobs.
And Attempts to add me
To its mass connection-collection head
Leave me offended.

"What's on your mind?"

Go away.
You ******* freakazoid.

Dear poet,

Dear ***** talker of some unrequited nasty,

Dear slow admirer,
Noticing my detail like a detective

Twist this halo into handcuffs
And love me already

Or don’t

I’m not real

And if I were

I’d hate to be her

You perfect pitch psalm sayer
Waxing generic

Quit the verbal dance

And dance with me

I am glad you know I’m not perfect

I am as faulty
As a topographical map of California

This body is chills

Is goosebumps

Is legs that were soft yesterday

Kiss them

Prickle your cheeks

Does your beard know the difference?

Do you?

Do I feel like scented sandpaper love notes
Still stained with a kiss?

I know I might just be squid ink to everyone else

But you dear poet

Dear detective
Black lighting my flaws into glowing beauty

Put your lips to my stains

They still taste like stains

You made them

You made me

You made me Dear Poet

Stop talking

And take me

Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile


.

It's not hard.
Oh, let me try again -
it's not easy.

I don't want to be singing this -
when I'm seventy -
boy with two rattling stupid decades in his palms -
small song, small town.
Made a shawl of his lamentations and learned
to play guitar.

Somebody told me I had talent
and immediately I saw myself
on a rocket ship, fists full of Mars rock,
Julius Caesar coins and the stars shattering all around.

I'm not asking a lot.
All I want is my living room full of those who are fun,
my bed full of those who are attractive,
a Starbucks in my area.

Some people have to watch others die
before they turn twenty-five.
I just have to learn to exist a little more,
and speak a bit louder.

I have done nothing but sit still, and yet
I am out of breath - I talk all the time, my cartoon voice -
my sleepy face.

Somebody once came up with something amazing.
Kept it in jars for two centuries, drank it in libraries.
They breathed it into my mouth,
and then I couldn't stop talking.