do you see my hands?
my long fingers, a little bony, sometimes they hurt
they tell me i have an artist's hands
she was an artist, too

do you see my shoulders?
freckled from the sun,
just like hers were

do you see my collar bone?
it's very pronounced
maybe not as much as hers, though, toward the end

do you see me walking?
my legs are long and my hips are wide,
and my waist is small and my smile is big
just like mom


do you see me?
or do you only see her?
i'm still here

How to express the weighing
Tenderness in my heart for you

How to explain
My heart
That is losing its shape
And taking form of
A condition

Invisible and critical, demanding
How to make sense of this

Longing here, in the empty shelves of my rib cage
Where you stand before me
Our feverish hands so close to touching
But they do not touch

How to let it be known that
You are wearing down, softly
The parts of me I stregnthened most

Should I laugh about it?
This comely irony, my soul burning bright for you
On winter's coldest night

Tell me, how should I behave?
What façade should I turn to?
When this means more to me than I know it should

How should I conceal, love
The layers
Of you
That can be found in me?

Playgrounds became lifestyles when I was with her
Outgrown boots shod, dainty feet sat down together
Sat down for a kiss, I didn't think could be sincere,

Because I have problems,
I have woes the epics tell
But she told me different stories, different
Beliefs in me, hopes for my sunlight
Times spent rushing to find a place to smokey intermingle
To gasp each other's air.

I tried to find her as circumstance ripped her away,
But I'm forgetting her as I write this
Unceremoniously awkward, I hate that word, but that was how we left it.
Was it real? Who knows?
My eyes don't like to invent.
When I let the hoods slide over them,
Down, dark, a shelter from the mist
I see a sunny vale again
Where she might be waiting.

All I want for Christmas
is peace on earth
(well, at least in Amerika);
a black, velvet painting of Elvis
(the old, fat Elvis of course);
massive volcanic eruptions
along the Rim of Fire
with ensuing Tsunamis
for a bit of Yule excitement;
A Maserati (red, gently used);
health, happiness and peace of mind
for my friends and children;
a stuffed and mounted Cassowary
(but still safely caged);
a distance learning course
in Alchemy and White Magick;
continued success and mastery of
obscurity, poverty and poetry;
for all the men I served with
to be alive, thriving and happy;
for all the women I've loved
to remember me and smile;
for Steve McQueen to play me
in the upcoming movie of my life;
the usual end to world hunger
(more Kale for everyone!);
a bottle of pure testosterone,
tumescence and liver disease combined
(just once, Doc, I promise);
a routine, tropical winter for Pennsylvania;
release from the burden of time,
but not immediately;
to end all my dreams with laughter;
to meet and shake hands with Buddha;
and, of course, to see you again.
Think that's too much to ask?
It goes without saying
I have been very, very good
(just ask my loving, schizophrenic cat).

That brief interlude between
Sleeping and waking,
I pass through each day like
Some dark undertaking,
Where nothing is real, where
I’ve been to or going,
My mind is disordered,
My heartbeat is slowing.

And even the room that I
Enter is swaying,
My eyes are distended my
Brain is nay-saying,
While legs stagger sideways
And crablike in function
Like some leaden corpse treated
To extreme unction.

The wars were all won, or
Were lost in the sleeping,
While everything worthwhile
Would seem to be weeping,
The slate should be cleared by
Each act of purgation,
But I wake each day to
Some strange dissipation.

I often forget simple
Words in our language,
That drive to distraction
And cause me more anguish,
But calm will return when
The evening is making
That brief interlude between
Sleeping and Waking.

David Lewis Paget

My thermometer showed water lilies,
While the I drank the sky in a perfect line
Now, choke me with that smile
And let me borrow small pieces of your time
Afterall it's a cashless transaction.

no where
no way
it is antithesis
to what I set out
believing
that heart
and feelings
overcame
the rude
scholars
the intelligence