Yes, freaky man on bus
Those are my *******, I'm sure
You must have seen a pair before?
I can tolerate a quick glance,
But is there any chance
You could take your stare elsewhere
For at least some of this journey?
I saw you pay in cash
At least you're getting your money's worth, at my expense.
I'd crotch-watch, pointedly,
Except there isn't much to see.

Poetry
stands us on the overlook of the forest
and makes us see the ladybug
in the shade
of an indistinguishable tree.  

Poetry
takes time for the janitor
no one has ever spoken to.  

Poetry
gives voice to the frightened child
and the bird who forgot how to sing.  

Poetry
smells like the garbage in the apartment
of a 5-day drunk
letting us wonder
whether it is his heart or his mind that is broken.  

Poetry
turns a pacifist into a powerhouse.  

Poetry
wraps words into presents
becoming gifts of love
and breaths of life
in our common humanity.  

Poetry
makes us sticky on the floor of a movie house
or bad caramel apple decisions,
and unfortunate one-night rendezvous.  

Poetry
puts portals at impenetrable walls.  

Poetry
brings salvation to the Atheist,
hell to the saint,
equality to both.  

Poetry
makes room for love
regardless how redundant
or naive.  

Poetry
bleeds on our behalf
that we might die a thousand deaths
and live to die again.  

Poetry
makes the forgotten glaring,
the trivial a celebrity,
and illuminates the streets as a marquee
for what had once been insignificant.  

Poetry is a spotlight.
Everything is a star.

I wish I could call you and tell you how the feeling remains...

How almost two years later I still have lingering dreams...

How up on that hill top I find myself lost...

And all that I can recall is how you feint disinterest but even apart still played on my desires

You never looked more beautiful to me then in separation beneath the fireworks light...

I recall how the trip home seemed shorter somehow and how even days after I would still reminisce...

The truth is that I still miss you but I just can't bring myself to say

Too afraid I suppose..
That maybe you don't feel the same

So with my heart in my hands I bid fare thee well. Good bye my friend...

May your hopes and dreams be fulfilled

i'm waiting, impatiently,
for the house of cards
you built
to shatter at your feet

and wipe that smug smile off your face

the fall of a lazy empire
never sounded so desirable

your inappropriate actions were swept
under the rug of the public

especially this afternoon,
when you brought along
your newest lover to a board meeting

your victory was simply accidental, darling.

but, when your corruption is exposed,
it'll be made sure that your fall is a cushioned one

and you'll see me, in your rearview mirror,
laughing while your universe comes crashing down

she wears 12 human teeth around her neck and when i ask why she tells me it's art
but i cant help but wonder where she got those teeth and if she made the necklace or did she buy it?
are they real teeth or just molds of something that used to be?
and is she a sick psychopath or just an unusual artist?  
as the weeks go by i touch the teeth they're real, they're human, shes sick
there's 14 teeth on the string now and she holds them in her palms
tears down her face she plucks, like petals, the teeth, shes sick

grabs her hair, cuts chunk by chunk off her head
i grab the knife still she cries she wont let go shes sick
we walk in the house, bodies,
bodies!
dismembered people strewn about her kitchen
how can the neighbors stand the smell?
i count, one two three fourteen shes sick, dear god, she's sick!
she cries she screams look what I've done!
its art! she cries it's art!  

the sirens come close who called?
thirty i mean sixty men push through the door surround
put our hands on our heads why me ?!

i scream she screams our hands go up
i close my eyes make it stop please god just make it stop
open shes gone i turn around the cops aim straight
flashes flashes flashing back to the night
its me, it's me, dear god, i'm sick!