Who am I
                     if I cannot
                      bring myself to realize the
                      nature of the word

I know you.

Who am I?

I'd like to be a jumpsuit
  so I could wrap myself around you
       in an endless hug.

One hand in two, three
minutes stretching out endlessly
keeping time while the world spins
around and around my heart

I am in awe of that moment.

My phone lights up and goes dark.
An "X" with your name beside
A missed call.

I return.
You pick up.

Flash:

It's the eighth grade again.
It's 4 am.
I muffle my voice so my parents won't hear us talk
I refuse to hang up until I hear a click from your side
To preserve what I can, savor the moment

Return:

Tonight, we talk.
We discuss what went down on your side of the world this week
And remember old jokes
(your cat is only fatter)

Tonight, you're tired.
You and I both should go to sleep.
We sign off, say our good nights

And I am the first to hang up.
As I was that July, three long years ago.

*People change.

All these letters I've held on to
To spite me in my current condition
Hurl
          word after
                     word after
                                word
    (afterwards, hardly any heart to think)

tempt my flame and lose the privilege of
    their homes in my memory

I'm going to capture you one day
When you least expect it, all
           sneaky approach and
quick action

You won't realize it until it's too
Late to protest and assert your
Presence in the present, which
Might not always be the case so

I'm going to capture you one day
When you least expect it, all
           sneaky shutter and
quick flash

And a smile of yours to pin on
My wall, personality
In a picture

expository fiction, written
coals for eyes burning

watch where you build your
fires, we wouldn't want to

burn these trees

I'm slightly out of
practice, a bit bent
out of shape like a
paper clip faced with
Rhode Island's taxes

at first glance, it might
seem as though I have
forgotten all I
once knew

first glances are rarely
accurate

what I do know is the
things that make you
you in your own
words, things like
cooking or
poetry or
smiles

these things don't die, they
hibernate until you're
smart enough to
wake them up

No frame can hold this hope
   not a line,
                a touch,
                        a song

please help me carry it
        (I have faith in your strength.)

Drift off to sleep among
Hordes of orange sheep in the fields
Behind the Walgreens
Not the one you know but the one off that
Long road to nowhere we went on once while looking for
A place so desperately different from the one we found

Where you can crumple up a newspaper and throw
It up into the clouds, waiting for hours without even a
Whisper from its knowing pages

Beside the factory and
Inside they make little boys and girls into great
Law-makers and road builders who have lost their ways and
Dreams and wishes somewhere inside the world's collective furnace and
May never return to the
Land of the crayons

That is a tree
And this is war.

(do not follow your heart)

do not follow the resolved feeling, the
         benefit of the doubt a hundred times over and
                        bent over backwards and hollow

do not forget numbers, multiples of being alone
         prime and so easily covered with the foam that
                 washes away, worthless
    
                  do not follow.
                  do not forget.

take these foundations you insist upon dispersing like
ashen arms, gritty sand wiped into an eye by mistake

        take these.

                take these compounded days and
                take these dug out pits of stomach and
                take these falls and

    get the hell out.

How can I bring you to understand
The fragility of these words, that
It can all disappear in an instant
Dissolve into particles so small they
Refuse to be named

How can I convey the sense of urgency
That all moments stand as marble
In a hall of memory, waiting
For the last few empty shelves to be filled

When I tell you I miss you
When I tell you I'll miss you
I mean it

In disguise when
                  surrounding people boast inflated
   concepts of importance
        
          If they cannot recognize me
                      when I change, how
             will they recognize my ideas after
       I am gone?

Letters in the mail
pieces of me freed by words
keep them with your heart

Tornado warning for where you are**

good
      bring it on
                
   there is nothing here that I would miss
                                        so, sweep it all away
                                              if you please
       I'll cheer for you

High tide, high
time for an afternoon spent
chaired, head up and fallen, eyes
open and closed to the fresh list of
life goals: to marry, live surrounded
by nature, spin songs, pluck
poems, to be a good
grandfather

and how best to get there is a
matter of opinion

no sense lame-
nting about the era or
frowning at the tele-
vision that's gone
blind from so many
tears shed over
nonsense, no
senses to eat
out this hollow
mind the fire, you'll
catch cold this
fall to the
leaves

Life is a flower
Blooming in the darkest corners
Stretching for the light

Pedals of purple, white, yellow
Accented by a forest green stem

So too should we be
As flowers

Should a pedal wilt and die
Let it fall and
Grow another.

kept under wraps like
an under-water welcome
bubbled up like kerosene from an
O-shaped mouth is
this hope

this hope that
someday truth should
transcend better judgment and
stipulations

that someday
you will listen

What's up with love anyway?
It tends to leave you hanging
With only a passing glimpse
A promise
An empty promise

Come back?

Please?

This is addressed to the ears of whatever is wrong with me.

*******.

I will not break.

I make up little games for myself sometimes
placing bets on the future, silly things

and I dropped a vitamin C tablet accidentally this
afternoon, immediately declaring a wonderful
something (written dream spoken
aloud) would transpire should the
next one be pink as well
rather than orange or yellow

and it was, so I
smiled a bit and
hope shone an
ounce brighter
tonight

Life is better out loud.
It is out loud that we learn
And in learning all things are possible

Do you remember the candles
Lost as you were inside their flame
You do.

I can see it in your eyes
They contain so much, really
Instantaneous connection via gaze
I do believe I've just about finished
This chapter in my life

Yes, there's the bold heading
Visible through these thin pages

And once one is through
You'd best start another
Or get lost in the margins
Of someone else's notebook

It is as silent as a library should be
Though they rarely live up to their namesakes
And on occasion a noise might
Betray the location of one inhabitant
Blissfully stuck between bindings

And it is funny that what some people fail to recognize
For lack of proper examination distance
Can be quite apparent to an outsider
Funny
Like clowns.

I'll throw myself under the bus every now and
again to see how I take it, an
      interesting game for a bit, but
                                 having watched this new man come to terms with
                    my self, I am joyous,
                                        elated,
                                            sprung up like a forget-me-not from the
lack of a pillow, misty mornings, love over my
              head like a river

                            still, rains are heavy - every single night changes something, the comfortable
                   shades of wet, defined puddles reflecting porchlight

do memories really die with us?
  
         no.
                   they are twin steps ahead to immortality, Westward smiles like plains and hills rumbling
                      as mountains of epiphany

            I'm trying to make certain of things that are impossible, goodness
that's enough of that, suppose stubbornly a
                                 change of scenery and open heart can achieve
                anything worth trying

      and she'll never know the picture half strung-out on forgetful
                    chemistry, unless I
                                  paint it just right
at least, that's my
          point of view

A battered pair of soft leather shoes
    brown against gray cinder-blocks
        remembers the roads once traveled
  nights surrounded by forgotten
                       popcorn at the movies
      long afternoons spent embracing sweet grass

The casual passerby would not notice
            but the crease where
                                      had the topside been a face
               its mouth would have been
                      curved upwards in
                           fond recollection
                          of times long since past


blink


                      and it is once again
                  a battered pair of soft leather shoes
                      brown against gray cinder-blocks

When was the last time we
took pictures with every
intention of holding onto them?

it might seem small in comparison to a
global movement for peace or campaign to
end world hunger, but an afternoon and a
handful of memories can go a long way

and sincerity ices the cake

It's criminal
               to bear witness to this startling beauty
         of red, orange, purple
           the natural painting that creates itself each night
                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                  alone

I'm a washed up fool in flannel pajamas
And I bet that line got your attention
See I thought there might be, between one and three
A whole world for us to rent space in

While time rambles on, I'll still write my songs
And hope you will make your way home
To a warm wooden fire, a mug of hot cider
And a kid who still calls you his own

Picture yourself in twenty years
no
I can't either. But
we'll both get there, I'm
certain of the fact

and I'll be kinder and you'll be
wiser and I just
hope I still know
you then

The light shining around us is helping us to find
What we have always found to be impossible at night
Wake up my friend, the sun is high in the sky
And the beauty of this place still leaves me tongue-tied

Look around….Look around….
Can’t you feel the energy flow in this river of sound?
Look around….Look around….
Can’t you let your troubles go in this haven that I found?

The woods are getting weary
They can’t take much more
All of this development is ripping out their core
Why can’t we see the beauty, glimpse the tranquil bliss that
Though we pass through for a while
Soon leaves us to reminisce

Look around….Look around….
Can’t you feel the energy flow in this river of sound?
Look around….Look around….
Can’t you let your troubles go in this haven that I found?

There was a time when it was simpler
And we knew just what to do
Making music in the dark
Helped cure the color blue
Dusk is growing near now
Love, reach out for a star
Keep it; hold it, in your hand
And it will take you far

Look around….Look around….
Can’t you feel the energy flow in this river of sound?
Look around….Look around….
Can’t you let your troubles go in this haven that I found?

The clock is ticking
Our time is at an end
Never forget what you’ve learned and
Be sure to send
This message to your loved ones
Be true to your soul
If you pretend you’re someone else, well
It’ll take its toll

Look around….Look around….
Can’t you feel the energy flow in this river of sound?
Look around….Look around….
Can’t you let your troubles go in this haven that I found?

On the eve of the
    time when I saw
          you in lights
              there arises a feeling of aging

      am I yours, are you mine, there we
                   are holding hands spending
                       time that will let us (someday
                                    we'll settle down)
another year,
        another number written
                  on a sleeping page
             (they've gone and shaken awake every
                      dreaming soul to ask them what
                                    it is you could be calling
                                                         ­ me to say)

  talk about the house that we will
                    buy and decorate to
                              be our home

(I like to picture us there on our own)
                        it keeps me focused
                        and warms my bones
        look how we've grown

It's a good feeling this
positive vibration of the spirit at
1 forty 8 in the dark
which
        dare I allow my fresh naive thought to venture out
              into our sleeping world
convinces me that
tomorrow is going to be
a great day

Is love what we make it out to be
             when we cling to it out of desperation
     fall all over it in forgetfulness
          drink too deeply and grow drunk on its richness
      
  brass is the heart that is mistaken for gold
                  functional but misleading

Is love what we want it to be
      when we ache in
                  fond recollection

It's nothing special

Only smoke and
                             mirrors | srorrim
        most of the time


            
                          Except when it isn't.

No matter the day
Be it morning or noon
No matter the time
The hours pass soon

Love is all
All my thoughts
All my dreams
My everything.

I wish for my baby
Wish for the fall
And despite all this madness
Love is all

Shh.
Don't tell.

Hello.

a young man
/ lost

and then a voice
/ do not tire of me

for I will bring many things to delight and
/ astound you

//

grown now
/ cynical with age

the promise fallen
/ flat like fresh
/ paper

all the while
/ a nearby smile steadily
/ moving closer

Everyone wants to
                           box things up
                 Seal it all behind zippers
       and buttons and clips and plastic wrap

         In the hopes that what is
                               inside the box is
                In some way better than what
                                             Exists outside

I was right. All composed of circles, but
Not a bad thing
Relations make life worth living and
Knowledge of them dispels any notion that
It is not

So deeply intertwined the little glimpses
Matter, carry
Explosive realizations in their handbags

It is hot, we are more than
Excited molecules and yet not
Really, excitement is relative
And we enjoy being excited

Heat transforms into a manifestation of
Interrelation awareness

Our world is largely cold and digital
Not to say we need to be

Neutrality is too often stifled by
Polar hands

call me kindling
but I want to light a fire
in your eyes, a deep cleansing
burn to douse right-side up,
brightly

symphonic voice

held fast, dripping senses
(scoured streams if only)
lifting
off the sky and placing this
beneath rocks in cool blue
water, tentative red card-stock
hearts warmed up like heated
mattress covers in a soon-to-be
natural and slow-melting cottage

tethered happily to your
waving dock of
chamomile acclaim

I believe that
           no one really means it when they
         say it's time to go

Hello
       what is your sign?
  
oh, you're neutral.

        then what
               may I ask
          do you bring to this equation?

maybe I'm filled to the
brim like cupped hands under
the bathroom faucet

maybe the words that scorch this
tenderness in my mind with lonely
potency are yellow children of
a summer sun and its flower bride

maybe laughter is a dance

maybe when we get down to it, we
never really go anywhere, remain
hand-in-hand across state lines

and this heart snuggles up with
that one and the two grow stronger
out of their freedom heat

maybe I'm thinking too often, but
these thoughts orbit you like stars,
keeping me company until morning

Come to terms with
no man is a god and
those who believe in themselves
end up furthest from their goal

Lead me back to where I am
Floating above myself in brilliant
Shimmering crystalline detail

Shards of speech sunk deep into
these green tendrils of progress

expect the best and you will find'
at times you eat the elephant but
mostly it eats you

Takes a while to sink in, this
new place, the smell of cleaning
products and wood, leather and
old books

This is my home—how did I get here?

I work maniacally, rearranging as a signature,
desperate approval for this change

So much space
"you'll be comfortable"

living apart, what
life should I lead?

Expecting summer, I
choke down terror that
walks alongside convention

"oh, I'm just here for a
little while, saving
a bit of money so
I can do what
makes me feel
alive"

everyone stuttering,
gilded cages pieced
out of garbage

the irony settles like a cloud

to escape this world, I
need to save a bit more
money

Why are some things labeled

                                                  TRASH

   and others passed on to grandchildren?