I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem's heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl,
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day--
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.

The only problem with colliding in love, is the down ward spiral from the heights above.

The only problem with that first long kiss, are all the others later that seem to have been missed.

The only problem with taking that chance, is gaining all the baggage of a faulty romance.

The only problem with colliding in love, is you're crashing two lives and expecting no blood.

The only problem with that first long kiss, is the thought it's self sustainable with a byproduct of bliss.

The only problem with taking that chance, is gambling in that moment betting all upon a glance.

1 I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
2 Borne, like a vapor, on the summer air;
3 I see her tripping where the bright streams play,
4 Happy as the daisies that dance on her way.
5 Many were the wild notes her merry voice would pour.
6 Many were the blithe birds that warbled them o'er:
7 Oh! I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
8 Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.

9 I long for Jeanie with the daydawn smile,
10 Radiant in gladness, warm with winning guile;
11 I hear her melodies, like joys gone by,
12 Sighing round my heart o'er the fond hopes that die: --
13 Sighing like the night wind and sobbing like the rain, --
14 Wailing for the lost one that comes not again:
15 Oh! I long for Jeanie, and my heart bows low,
16 Never more to find her where the bright waters flow.

17 I sigh for Jeanie, but her light form strayed
18 Far from the fond hearts round her native glade;
19 Her smiles have vanished and her sweet songs flown,
20 Flitting like the dreams that have cheered us and gone.
21 Now the nodding wild flowers may wither on the shore
22 While her gentle fingers will cull them no more:
23 Oh! I sigh for Jeanie with the light brown hair,
24 Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.

What if our togetherness opened
an entirely new galaxy known only to us
for a getaway all our own.

The planets would serve as our new home,
and instead of finding aliens on Mars,
the Rover would uncover dusty footprints
of two lovers' aimless tracks circling
around the bottom twelve times.
No longer will the days belong to Christmas
where partridges are in a pear tree,
or where lovers exchange golden rings.

Instead the days will belong to our universe
and the creatures working to the top will be us;
we will outshine the planet with the light of our love.
We will be bound together so tightly
that even the rings seem breakable.

Images of us will reach NASA one day
and all the mad scientists will be left to wonder
what creatures embedded the footprints on Mars.
They will notice the strange light,
but never figure out its source.
None of them will discover the reason
because they are all too desensitized to realize that
love has no science behind it,
there is no method to the madness--
love simply is.

-mp

I.

The grandfather dies. The dog also.
The sun sets in the west. Turquoise
is a good color to name. Something
that ebbs is likened to something
that never ebbs. It is raining.


II.

The speaker’s grandfather was a master
carpenter. The things he made are scattered
around the speaker’s family. The speaker
expects his future spouse to help him steal
these to put in their future house.

III.

The important part is the speaker
still uses his dog’s name as the answer
to security questions on the internet.
In the situation of the speaker being in a life
and death struggle with an evil
clone of himself, you hold
the gun and don’t know which
to shoot. Ask the dog’s name.
If you want to live, know the answer.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.