#stokes
Going back
is a Fool's
Paradise
Its un-
truth is
its
Per
Fec
Tion
the delicate
bead
of your kiss
A tongue
enunciating
what the
present
Can Be
makes
it all
So Clear
Worth
while
Good
night
but not
Good
bye
to us
maybe
but
You and I
still stand
strong
think
clear-
ly
have twisting
desires
guns
in our backs
for some tattered
and tear-stained
piece of Truth
We cannot
be
Con
Tained
within the realm
of
Re
Collec
Tion
Let us bleed
out
into the
frightening
cold
of our stark
Day
Light
Dreams
Jesus, I own
thoughts that
align me
with you!
You are
a confusing cup
of cigarette tea
And we
are working
to let
our meat
be malleable
our minds
supple and
our tongues
agile
in the warm
embrace of
the other's
Mouth
Heart
Eyes
Another
universe
of dangerous
Pos
Si
Bi
Lity
To hell
with Duality!
The past
is Simplicity!
**** what is
wrong
Know what is
Right
and live to see
the probability
of Tonight
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
You are the pleasing smell of Chinese grease
I am the invisible motivation to frolic in the fountain
You are a stranger's giggle &
an invitation to dance
I am a Cabaret Voltaire 12"
& half a clove cigarette
You are the diaphanous nature
of auburn clouds at twilight
I am the woman who raised you
but never dared speak your name
You are that familiar left shoe
abandoned on the roadway
never finding its twin
I am an expectant evening
after an expectant morning
spent talking on the phone
You are the receiver
the near-silent listener
the breather of shared truths
I am the walker the watcher
the faint scent of prawns
near the dumpsters at work
You are a newborn angel
a pageant of colors & functions
I am a poet, no matter
where you find me
lost on a street corner
that I'll never own
You are a plane ticket, yes
only one way to answer
I am a handstamp still worn
but only as a reminder
You are the fairy lights
strung between broken
promises only barely remembered
after a night washed in ***
I am a cluster of strangers, drunk & excited
We are the gift of mystery, alone at the table
We are mutual, the future
the last to be opened
We are the mission completed
the present grown tall
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
at the bottom of a stagnant lake
lived a dead forest
black trunks standing
knuckle deep in muck
branches simply armature
for a fluttering array
of gray scarves
blowing in the watery wind
molds and aquatic plant life
growing quieter in near darkness
the forest laid down years ago
gave up the sun and the breezes
the same arguments from the same birds
slid back toward the sandy edge
then gradually leaned over
one after another they followed
under the forgiving cover
of progressively longer nights
a very slow migration
the stars really weren’t watching
eventual full immersion
nothing left uncovered
but the land around the lake
the gray water always present
became all any tree could remember
oxygenating the murk for a while
the contradictions grew
in place of leaves
instead of hopeful young twigs
stanchions indicating nothing
huddled together under the surface
standing sunken in an air more dense
a different kind of time passing
light arriving but
only in soft whispers
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC