Some nights
the moon throws its light
like an old man
who can't hold his liquor in
and spits blood in the morning

Someone ought to kick some sense
into me, if they did I'd hum
like the body of a fiddle

I propose we all strip down
and take a swim with my friends
the dragonflies, but no one will listen
to what I have to say when I throw my voice
like an empty bottle deep in the forest

When I think of all the dark
and swift things of my rivers,
I wonder why time the old boot -
legger hides his maps and goes
on traveling the low roads

Alone I can tell you there is so much
beside the point of the thorn of the rose
and why the moon is with me always
whenever i choose to go it alone

I drink from that blue jar of time
and breathe the breath of sweet infants

Believe you me the dead shepherd
we sent up the river in a faraway land
in a time so long ago still holds us
all by the holes in his hands

You can see the dark clouds up ahead,
my cloisters I am always walking through them
with you children of the lost dreams,
and with you fifty-something snow-headed men

We have just collided with our lost sons
on the high road of morning, we are rising
dust like the dirt on our children's graves
saying nothing to our brothers the stones.

In my palm, I offer four.
Glimpsing, you ask, "Isn't there more?"
Had you accepted, you'd be sure:
Fruitful abundance was in store.
Not understanding soulful lore;
Rescinded four; a ceased sojourn.

I'm slowly kissing your gentle lips run my fingers through your soft lovely hair our hands touch our lips embraced in real love our hearts beating softly together no sound around only our hearts beating together I kiss your neck your moan of the feeling of real love knowing our hearts are embraced together in real love our hearts loving every moment of our special time together we are truly and deeply in love.

There is a shadow,
there is a whisper
there is the hint
of something else.

the nighttime screams
in my eardrums
repeating songs
where I came undone.

and who I used to be
just isn't me
and everything is changing,
and maybe that's good.

I am glad to be
part of you
I am glad to be
yours

but I live in the space between
meant to be
and reality
so find me
buried in old songs
and the broken spine
of your favorite book.

I am the sweetest, warmest sip
of your tea,
and I am the the best bite
of your favorite food.

I am simple human pleasures
like the smell of the rain,
or vague, stretching pain.

I am looking deep within your eyes
and finding golden ore
among churning blue skies.

you are the lightning that fills my veins
and I am the light
growing at the end of your tunnel.

Traffic jam on the highway
cars stopped
one hundred percent gridlock
heat waves off the asphalt

people rushing to see relatives
holiday weekend; a few hours till they see them
two hundred engines humming
flies buzzing

five hundred people waiting
wondering what they're waiting for
waiting for their wheels to turn
waiting for someone they've never seen before

their lives inconvenienced
by a traffic jam
******* up their holiday plans

when their cars finally move
and they see what made them stop
"oh dear, look at all those cops"
and an overturned tin can of a car

telling their kids to look elsewhere
shielding their eyes from the array
of a wrecked life
of a blue tarp on the highway

Their lives inconvenienced
by a traffic jam
******* up their holiday plans

but who is beneath
the blue tarp on the ground?
nobody even thinks
about what could be found

and what a disgrace
to simply be
an inconvenience
lying in the street

because humans are heartless
whether they are young or old
when their lives are inconvenienced
by a little girl's body gone cold

and for these reasons
i pray to never, ever say,
"i wish we could hurry through this traffic
because it's ******* up my holiday."