The world I want to live in,
It's that world
Where your childlike twinkle
Those fumes of pink ignorance behind what you'd call sweetness
Never have to leave

As we'd never have to fear
Men behind closed doors
Women behind them too
We'd never think of prisons

An alley where
Our parent holds our hand to pulls us away
Would be alien to us as the day we were born
And painfully born

A world in which
I'd never have had to learn to lie
Where my smile could be taken seriously
And my brother's eyes

Twinkled in all and out
Full of
Misunderstanding
For that thing we call deception

We'd tilt our heads
And smile
To the tears of stories long gone
We'd be the puzzles the past learnt to fix

In my world

A car, a person, a dirt street, the beach.
A loading journey,
Simple, unmeant goodbye.
Not sad to go away,
Relieved to not stay.
Need more space,
Need more space,
Some time away from reality,
Utopia, I'm a fool for you,
and I'm no match for
this mangled world.

I want to write a poem
So others will hear
The music in here,
In my heart and soul
So it plays a strong role
Helps people reach a goal
In putting aside hate
Before it's too late
And we despoil the soil
And ruin our own world
So that boys and girls
No longer can play
But must scrabble away
Their childhood in clay,
Hands filthy in poverty.
Let that poet be me.

I want to write a poem
With words so ringingly clear
That anyone who hears
Knows that I hold dear
The idea of equallity
That all can exist happily
Loving one another
Like sisters and brothers
Living together fruitfully
Truthfully, dutifully,
Sharing their destiny
And a rewarding future
That has no measure
Beause it is pure pleasure
And because it is bountiful,
It is completely  beautiful.

Loathing upon the
Object of awaking in the
Summertime can be quite
Tenacious.

Dreamy eyes of browns
Opaque ceramic coffee cups in
Grassy fields by
Tired blackberry bushes
And, most of all, a
Gaping sensation of finality and
Sunshine.

Now I'm wondering if I will
Ever find as
Vibrant a friend as you and your
Reasonable explanations, for lack of a better word.

Flying, close your eyes and
On you'll go, far over the skyscrapers, you'll find
Utopia, and I'll find our conversations of
November through June, and drink a thousand cups of your
Dark roast.

Maybe it's strange, but I'll miss your 10 a.m.
Eyelashes and all our lovely times.