this poem identifies
as a block of cheese

its pronouns (today)
are whem and whey

You are just a fool in the
middle of a canvas,
blocking images
of the
Light in your soul.

Come along with it.
Love your body and don't
let it remain in despair.
It will Thank you.

See It & Respect It.

night is falling,
          falling,
       falling
the clouds rush to and fro,
needless journeys with no end nor beginning
scrolls of verbs written across the sky in messy
tangles
of confusion and stress and mayhem.

wind picks up leaves and dances with them,
but tethered they are and tethered they shall stay
and the wind quickly finds the only companions that are his to keep for a while longer
are birds and misplaced people wrapped in tinfoil.

a noise echoes from far away
singular ears strain toward the nothing that is something
searching for more and more

as something begins less and less to shine
and the stars never rise from bed
except to manifest themselves as wet teardrops
from which everyone hides, sheltering himself,
discouraging any future expression
of weariness and quivering and loss.

the tears meet the grass in a show of quiet surrender
the grass turning to their nighttime lovers
yearning, ever so much farther,
to be reunited with another display of lacerated love
from the shy sky and affected darkness

i also regard myself to the stars’
seeking one lash of freezing acknowledgement,
seeking one who knows what i feel down here
seeking, if only because i am not everyone
nor am i alone a stone,

but i am the clouds,
the stories,
i am the wind, alone in joy and pain,
i am the whisper from the mountains, never heard but always uttered,
i am the stars, never seen but ever seeking,
i am the rain, a magic, shunned by all but those who crave life,
i am the grass, hoping in vain to meet to the one i love in joyful tandem,
i am they, and they are i,
and i sit in a seat to my left and shake as my soul is read from a paled paper
hoping to the roots that someone who is not everyone might come out of their home
and drink the sky with me.

you see a video in which
the bad guys hold the floor,
   where helpless people die
a dime-a-dozen death

and you forget
it is just a magnetic tape or disk
has brought these figures
to their nameless destiny

the bad guys may be amiable actors
   privately

in your illusion's grip
these people really die
and you
   do nothing
for their lives, their souls

not even push
   the saving button
   on your remote control

              * *

                              She ached for identity like a lover for their flame
  but lay despairing and dejected
                                                  When she couldn’t find her name.

I am from the past,
of mine and all the rest,
from memories and mind
and thinking for the best.

I am from the willows
drifting in the breeze,
from magnolias and maples
and the spray of salty seas.

I am from the orchards
packed with booming mines,
from sewing hands together
and fading away lines.

I am from a petrichor
soothing away pain,
from thunder on dry earth
and scent of dust after rain.

I am from the universe
every star that ever was,
from suns and moons and galaxies
and a magic police box buzz.

I am from counting stars
yet leaving time unnumbered,
from waiting 'til the day is right
and knowing the clock is slurred.

I am from the abandoned
forgotten and alone,
from black sight and forced fright
my supporters never known.

I am from the dream catcher
with borrowed feather tears,
eating all the insects
to drive away my fears.

And I am from the future:
the prospect and the test,
from seeking on for treasure
and a heart inside my chest.