The two of us play the same
note with the sounds of our lives.

Our timbre, however,
makes them unlike:

the wisp of a butterfly;

a supernova.

O Love,
Why do we hesitate in our fear?
What do we seek to preserve, for
What is worth more in life than the
Life itself?

While the spoils of the lives
Around us fade to nothing, the
Fruits of our union - our shared life -
Are self evident. It is the adventure
Itself that we reap.

Alas,
We search instead for a map
Of a road that has not been cleared,
When the compass heading is
As clear as the waters of Nyasa.

So come!
Let us move ever onward, and ever
Upward - for the road has yet to be tread,
But the destination is certain.

Let what is true speak into our hearts,
So that our hearts can guide us in
What is true on our voyage.

My eyes shift back
Into focus after staring
For so long

I blink as I wipe the drool
Off and look around

I sit in the comfortable recliner

As I notice the room, the chair,

The clock tells me how many years
I've been sitting here,
content to

Watch the dancing lights from
The T.V.

But all that's there is static

When doubts and fears are like an ocean,
I clamor to the sand -
A billion tiny grains of  deafaning voices.
I use them as soap and bleach
Against my skin to wash away the waves
Which crash against my soul.
I dig the sand with dirtied palms as far as I can go,
Deeper into the liars pit
Until I reach what lies underneath, of
Which I find regret.
So I lock my fingers into a cage and press
Into the regret, and choke it
At the bottom of the pit I dug myself,
But like spit through teeth
It shoots on through my grasp defiant and proud,
Where it buries me in its place.

Being as self conscious and
Insecure as I
Means fixing your hair before
Climbing into an empty
Bed
And sleeping alone,
Discontent with myself
In the dark.

I am of no use, is what it tells me.
That I have nothing special, and that
I am nothing compared to those around
me is the truest lie I was ever told.
It allows me to be soluble
in the lives and achievements of  others.
The individual pieces of me dissolve
into insignificant, infinitesimal specks
that serve no purpose, and amount to nothing.
Anything I do - any talents I have - will be surmounted by those
who are more than I could ever wish to be.
Alone I am whole, where the love I keep under my
sheets and between my arms tells me
she values me.
But out there - out there in the world
I am of no importance and
infinite expendability.

My girl is a superhero:
With one foot she snuffs the smoldering
Cigarette **** her depression lies in, and
With the other she staves  the weight of a
Terrible job;
With her left hand she creates and makes
Beautiful things from a beautiful mind,
And with her right she craddles me,
All the while flying on the small vibrant
Wings of a robyn.

Of all the places we could be,
Getting married in six months or
Enganged in Disney Land,
Or maybe even moving North
To simply live together,
Of all the places we're here -
While you destruct and I
Balance a crumbling life with school,
Here we are back in like.

Awake again, another day
Coffee as brown as her eyes meet me from
The mug she made me.
The heater keeps the cold away
But not as well as her breath
Or her skin against mine,
The shower head begins to spray
Steaming water that I ever wish were
Her fingers, streaming down my back.
Our frustrated feelings start to fray
As we play witness to others begin life together
As we've worked so hard to achieve.
But I will be the ceramic and not the clay,
Steadfast and unyielding until mine is mine
And hers is hers because by god --

Awake I will be in the suns first rays,
Wrapped in arms and light and soft brown hair
And eyes like coffee that will beg me back to bed.

Awake again, another day
Coffee as brown as her eyes meet me from
The mug she made me.
The heater keeps the cold away
But not as well as her breath
Or her skin against mine,
The shower head begins to spray
Steaming water that I ever wish were
Her fingers, streaming down my back.
Our frustrated feelings start to fray
As we play witness to others begin life together
As we've worked so hard to achieve.
But I will be the ceramic and not the clay,
Steadfast and unyielding until mine is mine
And hers is hers because by god --

Awake I will be in the suns first rays,
Wrapped in arms and light and soft brown hair
And eyes like coffee that will beg me back to bed.

Long after time began to stand still,
It was her and I, alone together,
Laughing our ***** off in an
Eternal bought of loving
Laughter.

I've never been able to write
Well about you
Because before any words even begin to form,
I've already drifted,
Beginning to dream about you.
Your smell;
Eyes;
Nose;
Laugh;
Smile - your downright perfect smile,
And as my mind wanders and
My heart goes outright supernova,
I haven't even the time to pick up a pen.

Like the carpet and our bed,
After so many years we've
Memorized each other --
Becoming permamently imprinted.

As the rate of change of life seems
To increase ever more as
Days pass, I would hope to approach
You asymptoticly-

Forever approaching you

Closer and closer


Until finally



We cross

Three years ago
I kisses the first lips I
Ever fell in love with,
And the last lips
I would kiss forever.

Reading the draft of vows you wrote three years ago
From a crumpled piece of paper I had all but forgotten
In my wallet almost felt like you were actually with me
Again.

We sat around waiting for the end
To come,
Watching the edges of clouds and ridges
Of the mountains burn like paper
Glowing and retreating into themselves,
And behind them the sky glowed with
Fire undiscernable from the sunset.

As it came, I sat by you, my last person and
I closed my eyes;
I was glad to end it
With you.

In her I've found the one whom
My soul will dance with forever

The one who sings and creates
And listens with me; my entire band

The one who never lets me stop
Laughing, and pushes me to tears
      any way she can

The one with whom I'm never alone,
My best of friends, more than a part
      of me

The one who lights and escaltes my
Life to brights and heights I never
      could have ever in forever
             possibly imagined.

I'm told that this is home, where I'm
Ignored and feel locked out;
Where I'm marginalized, I don't fit
In, a new culture -
A new generation.

Yet even the me of many yesterdays
Would disapprove of me now:

The opinionated academic who still
Says all the wrong things to all
Whom he loves.

So tell me,
What is one to do

When you don't fit in

Even with yourself?

From the moment the keys hit the table,
I knew I wanted to go back
And kiss you like I should have.

Tonight I lay in bed, with a few extra blankets,
To keep your spot warm for the next
Coming years.

I'm sorry, I'm not like
You all.
Not in the way that I'm special, or set apart,
Just different, for some reason
A difficult different.

I'm sorry my conversations
Are ****, and
I can't find the right things to say. I wish I
Could talk about Narnia, and give
Up space forever.

I'm sorry I haven't always
Been here,
One of your core memebers; I'm just
"More comfortable" on my own
On the benches.

I'm sorry I'm trying to steal her,
Your youngest love;
If I could give up these dreams of being
My own, our own, our own something
Great, I would.

I'm sorry I can't be banal, with a
Simple job in a simple town,
Content with what I know and doing just
Enough to get by on these broken
Parts of mine.

I'm sorry I can't love TV and video
Games the way you do,
To know them and talk about them as
Your friend is something I may
Never know.

I'm sorry I can't be a bonus son
Like the other.
But I love what I do, and though it may seem
Useless it's mine, and I'll do it for
Me, for her, for us.

I know none of you don't mean it, I know
Somehow it's in my head -- but
It's an uphill battle, and you're
Throwing boulders.

You are sunbeams cast long on a couch through
A window, whose mesh drags like fingers
On a fence through the sighs of the warm Spring
Air; Beautiful,
Comfortable, familiar,
Lovley.

"Magic is closer to science than religion;
science aims to conform nature to man, religion
aims to conform man to nature."*

Though I am no longer as mystified, this makes
Me no less a mystic. For I too pray,
Not through tears or knees
But numbers and telescopes.

You of much feeling need all your evidence --
Archaeology and historical account --
When I of such mind and curiosity
Need nothing more than the slightest feeling;

That feeling I crave beyond all else.

When I press your ***** clothes to
My face, and your aroma fills my lungs,
It's like I can feel your lips and flesh
In my mouth;
I can taste your skin on my tongue
And it's as if you're a part of me
Again.

Standing up on stage,
While I'm sitting in the back on a
Rack of Bibles, you'll never
See the watery eyes accompanying
My smile plastered face
From being so ridiculously proud
Of who you've become,
And what you can accomplish
With your magical voice
And marvelous talent,
All from a girl, who I get the
Privilege to love.

To be a man, is to be made not of
Glass or plastic, fragile or manufacturered
Like these young boys plucking
Away at keyboards day to day, acquiring
Vanishing trophies; a man is made of
Steel and stained wood, screws and twine
Make up his joints and bark is his skin.

To be a man is not smell of lysol or
Carpets, but if sawdust and oil, leather and
Soil, for a man is shelter.
When boys pitch canvas tents
In sand, a man plants logs on sturdy
Ground in which his family can reside, his back
The roof under which it is dry and safe.

To be a man is not to bake your mind with flashes
Of light and thunderous noise, but
To create, to be dynamic and soulful, imbuing
Himself into his creation;
To be man is to help and be helpful, to share and
Collect wisdom from others, to better
Everyone.

One day a Man will be honoured to take you
Home, to care for you until the
End of his days.
One day, that man will be me.

The Hiker reaches the foot of the mountain
And pulls out his map,
Laden with a golden path in lemniscates  
Knowing where he is to go
For he had known this since he set foot out
His door.

Day by day he scales a piece of the mountain
Face, lacking not skill, but
Having patience, knowing the safe and
Prosperous journey is the
Patient one, the one whose tree of meaning
Is rooted in passion, the passion
To wait.

The Hiker fears not the delay of the summit
For the summit is already his,
Her hand his bride, for it is known in the
Hikers name who he is meant for:
The Summit, forever and for always.

The feelings you convey with the
Sharpness of your gaze

Are as startling as glass shattering on pavement;
As soft as trees shedding on the sidewalk.

A kiss of the eyes,
A stab of the lips.

I wish I could be a sticky note
On your mirror
Or an alarm on your phone

To remind you every day of how much
I appreciate you, of how much I
Love you, because

I notice all the things you do for me, like buying me coffee in the morning or
Kissing me to cheer me up; better yet

Always being there; The magically disappearing
Dishes from the table and the texts
Of concern; the countless reminders

Of how important I am.
But oh dearest, how important you are,
Moreso than the tides and the stars,

Because every day you choose love.

The only thing I want any more,
Isn't for me, or for anyone else,
But for you to be happy

Because when that happens,
Nothing else matters, even if it means
Being a little more alone, on a weekend
Meant to be so together.

Sometimes our models of the
Universe don't quite work out;

Sometimes it's just a simple cause
And effect, micro like macro.

Now that my model of us is shattered
On the ground, a glass cookie jar subject

To the tantrum of a child, the electron
Moves forward in time once again;

Our entropy increases,
And we decay.

Like the positron,

I must be an anti-version of me,
Travelling back in time,

And the me here and now didn't
Travel this path by chance;

The effect of me knowing you must
Have caused me to find you,

Because you are too phenomenal
For me to have found you by chance.

In these short dark days
Where the fireplace is ablaze,
I lay with you under the blanket frays
And into your eyes I often gaze
As we break our fast on a donuts glaze,

And in the kitchen we lightly graze,
As I play a little of Martin Gaye's
Songs to which my body sways
With yours on our linoleum.

At this point it may not even
Be a poem,
Just too many intends in a too
Wordy sentence,
But it doesnt matter what it
Is, because all I
Want to get across is that

I love you.

It's been a long time since I told
You just how beautiful you are,

Not because you ceased to be,
But because nothing equates to you
Anymore --

The seas of metaphor ran dry and
The mines of simile caved in,

And only you remained, my
Warm quilt, my gorgeous
Wonder, my one and only, my
Siren angel, my
Dearest sweetest love --

So forgive this lazy *******,
For forgetting you needed
Reminding.

After all my years of study, and
Learning the things I love,

All I know here is entropy and
The Third Law;

That first we will force each
Other away, then fizzle and
Expel what heat I cherished most.

There isn't enough air in the atmosphere
To fill my lungs to where I could
Tell you how much I miss you;
How much I need you.

I'm losing him to the ocean,
Six years gone from me in hope
Of a life, but little does he know he
Doesn't have one
Because he gave me his.

Forever away in a broken home,
Sad and never taken seriously,
He taught me how to laugh and
Never let me forget.

She's all I have left and all I'll ever
Want, and she's my other half, what
Makes me when the rest of me is gone,
The only one who'll see me cry
When I'm left alone again.

And I'll need her, them, us,
For as long as I live.

You hum softly in the haze of dusk
The song of a passing ice cream truck,
A penny for a spool of thread
Toes digging in the loose dusty soil,
Tapping the long forked fire **** to either
Side as though blind, blind from smoke and
Tears and the darkness of
The canyons of silence Between us
A penny for a needle
The branch balances precariously on the
End of the fork, a tightrope walker
Plucked from the ground by a metal unfeeling god
That's the way the money goes
Until you dump it into the fire
Pop goes the weasel
And the obvious irony, the irony so
Commonly placed in horrors
I've got no time to plead and pine
Is what makes me laugh until
The tears bead up on the end of my nose
I've got no time to wheedle
Or so it feels like, because inevitably,
Always, somehow
Kiss me quick before I'm gone
You always light me up
*Pop goes the weasel