the only way i know how to touch the sky
is through the ribs of the dead.

dense as marble, your body
is something to hold onto

after years of chasing shadows,
thin reedy men whose leavetakings

were their legacies, fashioning
(maybe by accident) crude sharp tools

with which to stab my heart.
look at it today,

made thick by crisscrossing
scar tissue. have you ever seen

anything so beautiful
that was broken but

unbroken? here, feel
the heft of it in your palm.

the definition of legacy
I never truly knew
until one gathering
an elderly woman came up to us
and spoke out of the blue

she shook my mother's hand real tight
and spoke of my grandfather,
a former colonel and chaplain,
a present friend

to my mother she said:
"I love you because I love your dad"
and to me I knew those words
would stick till the very end




glb©2016

tearing every inch of me apart
piece by piece
until i've lost the different halves of me
the days go by, i lose myself a bit each time
oh, where does it all go?
where does your body go if you never return home?
---
people are young, that much is true
but i know for once that i'm older than you
and when i look into your eyes
i see my fears reflected back to me
the fear of dying young and living too old
because dying when you're young reaffirms your dreams
and dying when its all said and done gives you a legacy

who is my soul? i may never learn
could be built from the shadows
on planets far away from earth
could be constructed from the cracks
chipped off of asteroids,
a visual representation of the void
i'd argue that it doesn't matter where
each part of me comes from this universe
---
i want to glide along a cosmic wavelength
feel myself move through multiple dimensions
if space-time is a continuum then why am i stuck
in a vacuum, forced to live a life of singularity?

Where will i be when this is over,
Will i be the whistle in the wind,
Or will i be the sound in the waves.

Will i become a supernova,
the scent in flowers recently trimmed?
Or just a carcass only found in graves?

Will i be the story parents will tell their children,
The memories which will make my friends sigh,
Or will i be the hurt in my lovers heart?

Will i be the soul on its way to heaven,
The subject of advice given to passers by,
Or the poetry written in parts?

Maybe i will be the wisdom taught by scholars,
The ray of hope for the oppressed,
Or the image of morality in spirituality;

I could be the mind healing sermons from preachers,
The light in the hearts of the depressed,
Or the restoration of love to humanity;

I hope that my name lives on,
I hope that it'll be said of me,
See all the good he has done;

I hope to be the reason why visionaries run,
I hope that a memorial day be set aside for me,
For my legacies which lives through ages to come.

Wind. He brings desire
Everyone he can inspire
He knows tales untold
And legends forbidden
He is a freedom's friend
And very song's listener
He remembers it all
And ready to retell'em
To whoever will freedom understand

1
A seed grows in my Heart.
                (no more than a summer melon’s)        
        Black, brilliant, roots
        crack veneer shell and sprout
        propagate
        deep into the marrow of my very life.  

Tender flesh juicing red,
Replace my sinew!
Take what once fueled the industry of vanity,
        the fell machinery of your demise,
        the coffee life,
        the algorithmania,
        the I deserve,
        the trite Insta-filter,
        the like and friend and tag and share
And cast it aside!—as you once were!—
And make me the vessel of your deliverance
And teach me again
        to see you
        to breathe you
        to feel you
        to love you
So that I may redeem some future, some place
        where my son can pull the blade from his stone before it is sent to quarry.

2
How I long for you!
        For air!
        For sun!
        For solitude!

        For green!
        For radiance!
        For decay!

        For life!
        For rot!
        For fungus!

        For bark!
        For sap!
        For dirt!

        For some well-wish,
        some clue,
                that we haven’t dug too hastily
                with spite and ego and industry and greed.

3
Henry! Let me in your house!  
        Show me to fish and to bake your bread!
Walt! Chant for me!
        Sow me a path with your electric melody!
                (you understand my dilemma, boy of the city and soul of the Earth)
Allen! I cry to you!
        Put your sunflower in my eyes
        And wipe away my tears through dusty gray.


        Arthur,
        It may never once was, yet let the future be.

I have nothing more to teach you
For you have little more to learn.
All that's left to tell you, dear
Is cotton torn to burn.

Don't fix your jump on raucous bones,
For listening is done
With eager ears and cagéd breath
Without a thought for fun,

Without a thought for interest,
Without a thought for care,
I leave you lonely, such it is
To leave you dancing there;

And though your shouts shall echo on
I shall fade like paper
And though your ink on my skin scalds
You're still all I paid for.

Legacy is;
knowing where to hang your hat
and then knowing when to grab your coat.