i will let large threatening wild animals loose on the cities of america
resurrect the dead and all the enemies of mankind cause havoc confusion and dismay to everyone who didn't see it coming -- grow a thousand miles tall kick over nuclear plants ****** planes out of the sky and throw warheads like lightning bolts life as we know it will be licked up by flames and smoke -- i will scoop handfuls of smoldering ruins and smear it over the earth like a smothering blanket -- wait -- for a beautiful calm when everything is quiet -- i will breathe it all in cough up a new world vomiting mountains tall trees rivers lakes and oceans hacking up dry deserts hot swamps and forests from the back of my lungs i will choke on my last breath as i lay down in a cold sweat -- i will be overgrown and swallowed up like a fallen statue and my crumbling ruins will be the mortar for a new existence -- cities will be built upon my ashes

i pause in the west
with gas pump in hand
feeling the sand kick up
against my white tee
and the wind whip
my coif of bed head
staring off at the frosty white heads
of sentinel mountain peaks

would that she could see these
floats across the fluid of my brain
with a metal clang the pump
announces it has belched its fill

would that she were here
follows slow and somber
with printing receipt

another chance
begins a rainfall in my mind
that will not cease
until each inch is soaked

Can you hear it here?
That's right. Nothing.
No noise but the wind
Caressing the trees while they sleep
And birds singing their lullabies
To the lulling land
All the way up here
In perfect serenity.  
There's something spectacular
About these enchanting woods
That man can't create,
Will never be able to create
And I am the outsider among them.
Can something this beautiful
Really exist?
It's like stepping into
Nature's own dream world
And I can't stay here long
Or I might wake her up.
May she sleep on forever.

So much emphasis is placed
On finding the face in the crowd
That makes a permanent home in your brain
On the way a small forest fire can sprout from the fingertip touch
Of the one
Who may or may not stay
Just like the feelings that seem too good to be true.
But what about waking up early just to be filled with the solace of a gentle sunrise
Or dancing to the radio while cooking tomato soup in your sunlit kitchen
Or rolling down your car windows despite the falling rain
Or pulling on your favorite socks after eating peanut butter toast
I want you to wake up in the morning and smile because you have a whole life to live          
I want you to learn to appreciate the way the light streams over the moutains at 7:36 in the morning
through the air laying heavy with people's thoughts        
and through your window screen
Where the light lands in speckles on your bed and seeps into your heart.
I want you to cook your favorite breakfast and ride your bike the long way to work.
The beautiful things in life
Are the ones that are rarely noticed by others.
Love seeps from the earth and from your skin. Don't wait for someone to hand it to you.
Feed it to yourself.

I have never seen such a love,
As that of the mountains and the sky,
Every day sharing wet kisses,
Of mist, snow, rain, clouds,
The sky combing gently,
Through the mountain's pine tree hair,
And the mountains forever outstretched,
Reaching up,
Waiting for the moment when the two,
Lost lovers finally collide.

Colorado We Hear Your Call
Through Her Eyes The Centennial Stands Tall
Rocky Mountains Ruling Us All

That's what he told me
years ago,
when the hills first
started to sprout
in my head,
beneath the sandcastles,
and under built fairy huts,
when I knew the world was round,
but thought it felt like
a marble in my palm.

He told me,
while I wrote a poem about
a plant,
and then one about dirt,
because I thought
all the growing things were beautiful.

He told me,
after my multiplication
worksheet came back,
bearing 100%
and I couldn't have been
any more proud.

He told me,
after he showed me how to tie shoes
without bunny ears.

And I believed him.

The hills grew into mountains
I promised to move.
But the fairies left the hut when
I left that house.
And the world was round,
but it looked awful flat.
The marble grew heavy, and
got too **** big to hold.

My poems changed,
I'd **** the plant, and the dirt
was only *****.
I thought sad was starting to
Look beautiful.
Math got hard, and I
always wanted new shoes.

Nothing grandpa said
made sense anymore
and his dementia-soaked brain
went too crazy for my company.

Still the mountains in my head grew,
but it was starting to be too late;
they were growing around me,
and I couldn't move myself,
let alone the mountains.