Maybe I'm just too childish to be Blind.
             Perhaps it is that simple,
This easy
                If only you would allow.
Just be Honest.

Maybe I'm just too Childish to be Blind.
            Innocence reigns through each and every vision
Not enough wisdom;
                                    Cannot make differences coincide.
Cannot take more;
                                Comfort in so many options.
While others have less than none.

Maybe I'm just too Childish to be Blind
           This weakness of over Simplification.
Most say it's Utopian.
                                      This perfect world that can
                                                Never Exist.
Causing this insane world view
               That is actually the most sane.

Maybe I'm just too Childish to be Blind.
            Something happens as we age...
Added complications, useless reasons,
                                                             Just the bully on the playground.
            Something changes as we age...
Pain of others easy to avoid,
                                              Just close your eyes.

Maybe I'm just too Childish to be Blind.
            Or
                     Maybe I'm just one of few still able to
                                                See.


**Oct 9, 2013

all my poems
have become people.
i've tried the imagery, the
rhyme, the stanza,
the verse.
but i think i'm cursed.

sometimes it's him,
or her,
or them.
sometimes when i start
a line
it twists into a familiar shape
and the poem is a polaroid
slowly appearing.

i've collected people
and things
and ideas
and they all weave together
like a novel.
more and more these poems
seem like snapshots,
or a failed attempt
to capture
all the little things that make
him, her, them
beautiful and real.

maybe i'm on a quest to feel
or on a journey of commemoration,
but the people i've let in
have stolen my pen,
my poem,
my heart,
without an invitation.

I thought I tasted
something unique in your mouth.
It was clean and simple and
you smiled as our mouths
went in and out
like the tide.

I had a night that turned to day,
light touching the bedspread through the narrow window
and crawling up to where our heads lay.

And after months
of eclipse
you struck suddenly like a match
flickering into being.

I held you for a night,
but a match smolders
till it touches your fingers,
and mine are singed.