The basketball says thump thump thump to the concrete
Two black kids play a hoopless game. The rules? Intuitive.
The top stair railing of the apartment is a three pointer
Both of the walls along the side are an approved backboard
The grass is out of bounds, the door opening is a time out
The constant rattle of the railing assures without doubt
That they’re draining those shots like Ray Allen
It is the first day over 60 degrees all year and the boys
Smile like the sun granted permission for happiness
They are young and carefree and pulsing with life
But they will grow out of that fickle, temperamental joy
And they’ll rent a room or two in a brick apartment
With a red railing on the third floor, so they can listen
At times annoyed, at other times enchanted, I know this,
Because I am in a brick apartment, and I know the rules



(c) Marty Schoenleber III 2013

My spine makes a flimsy quill
When I first penned this poem
                                     crown
It meant          and               of me
             sole
Now I just hope it sounds naked
While I recite it with clothes on
As if I could turn a dial to show
The part of my heart it lands on
Here feigning an emotion so well
While in real life, I fight like hell
To hide it

We are always running
These streets holding us
As we hold hands
Your hand in mine,

We are running
We are running,
Not following anyone
Not following anything
We are unique
We are pioneers heading west
Not chased but willingly chasing the sunset
Where the horizon and the sky meet with a seamless kiss
We are hoping that they aren‘t the only things that love
          each other so much they can be together without
          leaving a mark

Not tearing or wounding or cutting or finding any cracks
          and fault lines, perfectly matched
One falling into the sea
One rising into the clouds
And on and on and on forever
Dripping off the edge of the known world

Who can know our world
Who could have chased us this far

We are alone in the wild
This rushing and running
Running from the streetlights falling away far behind us
Our hands tight like a taut rope from our shipwrecks
We are pulling one another from the depths
Neither an anchor
But both anchored together

Sinking
Sailing
Storming seas of sidewalk puddles and pavement bleeding
          together
No edges
No seams
No feet
No legs
No bodies
All running heart first shoulders back, eyes closed
Winds whirling around us

Running not following
Holding not falling
Chasing and ending somewhere in that kiss of sky and sea

Finally finding rest
Wrapped in a peaceful footstep folded-up asphalt blanket of
          each other‘s peace and preface
The only unstitched and perfect seam is the horizon that
          God wakes up and puts to bed where we find our
          heads were tucked in
But our hearts weren‘t allowed to end



(c) Marty Schoenleber III 2012

Most days I feel like nothing
Old Uncle Walt sings the song of himself
But my voice cracks at that octave

I’m still fighting the same demons
The same anger and depressions
That grab round my ankles at night
And drag behind each step during the day

If I wake up in a storm, I try not to get swept away
But I don’t make myself promises
So it’s all I can do when the smoke rolls in
To get alone and try not to choke myself or flood you

The biting wind swirling in my skull
Escapes out of my mouth in curses
It’s no wonder they’re hurtful
My apology is an echo out of the empty dark

But I am sorry

It’s not about you
It’s not your fault
But when all I have is frustration,
What then am I to share?

I once knew a little man
Who kept at a job he did not understand
And day after day
He’d go off to work and he’d say:
Today I’ll learn who I am

But Monday came
And then it went
And Tuesday came
And it too was spent
Like Wednesday and Thursday
And then at last Friday
While he sat in a confused lament

And week after week
His office chair squeaked
Until finally he made up his mind
He’d quit, he decided, and just in time
For that very night he died in his sleep

(C) Marty Schoenleber III 2013