You aren't strong

not like you want the world to see you

you go beyond

the stereotypical break through / pass through / world view  

and you come to rest somewhere different entirely.

You aren't strong

not like you want the world to see you

you go beyond

the usual cut through / push through / subdue

and you come to rest near my heart.

You aren't strong

not like you want the world to see you

you go beyond the typical attend to / be kind to / follow through

and you come to rest too close.

I'm not strong

not like I try to convince the world

I go beyond the happy pearled / swirled / twirled

and come to rest too far from your heart.

We're not strong

not like we want the world to see

we go beyond the beautiful foresee / palm tree / agree

and come to rest near each other.

Never quite touching,

never quite close,

just enough to see you

and inspire some prose.

Once he promised me his love

once he promised me his heart

He didn't see what I saw, though,

saw he was a work of art.

Once he promised me his last name

once he promised me a ring

he didn't know what I knew, though

happiness it would not bring.

Once he promised me his affection,

once he promised me his smile

I didn't know what he knew, though,

he didn't intend to stay a while.

Once he promised me his love

but his car's smashed to the wall,

I didn't hear what he must have heard

the way death must have called.

We're a sad starving bunch

of stupid teenagers

sipping from the sky

an occasional rain drop.

We're a sad starving bunch

of secret-keeping teenagers

shrieking to the sky

the phantom growing pains and all too real slowness of our sappy lives.

We're a sad starving bunch

of sanguinary teenagers

shooting our brains toward the sky

attempting to sacrifice ourselves for something more serene.

You are gone

and I can finally allow

the tears to fall.

I still have your flannel

and you

you still have my heart.

"You know, I worry about you."

"Oh, you shouldn't. I'll be fine."

This lie slips from my mouth

Like clocks tell time.

Someone wrote a poem about me

Once

Wrote me in as a hand holding the chain of a swing

One of two hands,

keeping them safe,

With my other hand I feel like I carry the knife

but that hand is for our

collective protective

our blockade of secrets

We Must Keep Hidden

from the world.

When I think of the word, poets,

I see a small group of people huddled around a tiny tinny coffee table

heads close together as they produce what is ultimately their life and death.

When I think of the word, poets,

I see a single bearded man standing

at a small stage in front of two person tables

with a crumbled piece of paper clutched in his ever aging world changing hands.

When I think of the word, poets,

I do not see a group of teenagers circled around one another in a clear classroom

with a box of cheep cookies

trading words and telling jokes.

When I think of the word, poets,

I don't see the boy with lingering loneliness, or

the girls with brightly dimmed eyes.

I see the Greats,

The Bukowskis, the Beats,

without realizing that one day

we may join them.

He is a sculpture

made of a blend

metal on the outside,

porcelain on the in.

He speaks in soft bursts of thunder,

in love,

outside he is wonder

but will collapse with a shove.

I had a dream

you gave me a car

something had happened to you,

you couldn't go far.

In my dream

I didn't know how to drive

and I crashed your car

the two of us trapped inside.

I had to repaint your car

to get rid of the red

and fix the dents

you left behind.