I'm sinking farther into the sea
Air cut off, unable to breathe

But it's not all too bad
The water's warm
and the fish look nice

It's a shame I can only see this
By myself
at the end.

Forgive me father for I have sinned.

I have loved her more desperately than any god.

I speak of a heaven that only exists when she is near.

She is not made from my rib or my flesh — she is my very soul.

If she ever leaves the place in my chest I’ve now named hers,

I will lock the doors, pull the blinds,

But I will not turn out the light,

So that she can find her way back home.

Become a poet when your prayers
fail to stir the heart of God.

My face is a study in cheekbones and shadows
And still
I remember a time when I felt at peace
Before my eyes grew distant
I was softer, fuller of colour and life
My smile, my pout, my laugh
Are a remnant of lost days
Now I paste them over too-sharp eyes
And a stiff jaw
Feeling hideously unnatural
An imposter in my own skin
To save myself
I withdrew from myself
I think
I have been away for too long

the words have come and gone,
I sit ill.
the phone rings, the cats sleep.
Linda vacuums.
I am waiting to live,
waiting to die.
I wish I could ring in some bravery.
it's a lousy fix
but the tree outside doesn't know:
I watch it moving with the wind
in the late afternoon sun.
there's nothing to declare here,
just a waiting.
each faces it alone.
Oh, I was once young,
Oh, I was once unbelievably
young!
from Transit magazine, 1994

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****** and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to ***** up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

for

    once,

   i would

love

      to be

         the poem

and

     not

         the poet