That face in the mirror,
That Beauty that shines back,
Is it more than a mirror?
Or is it just a shadow of that person?
We look into the mirror to define us,
To secure ourselves,
But does the mirror lie?
Manipulate our thoughts?
For the mirror only sees,
It only sees...
For can it see beyond that shadow?
Are we becoming the person we see in the mirror?
That dreadful person,
Soulless,
Defined only by the fragments of light that reflect from your skin,
Emptier than space...

i just tried to
adopt a metaphor
because
i was lonely and
i didn't have any
good ideas
because
it's rainy out and
i feel like lying down
but
when i got there
the page was blank
so I said
"I'll do it my **** self,"
and that's what this is.

You grew up
on the side of the road,
between sidewalk cracks,
in backyards full of
tall bahia grass,
pushing aside their
stems so you could
find the sky.

You grew up
beneath the sun
and out in the rain
and under every
booming thunderstorm
an Alabama summer
could throw your way.

Dogs ran through you.
Men, too, trampled you
but you sprung back up,
rumpled, but still bright,
unbowing, even when
they said you were just
a gangly **** that no
one would find beautiful.

(I found you beautiful,
because your face was
the sun, and I find it
everywhere.)

You grew up.
You had to grow up,
grew white and fragile
and one day the wind
came for you and
carried you away.

Fly far.

Clouds passing overhead
             shapes moving
     story of a life
I lie and watch
     floating by
               where white and blue encounter
        past mingling with future
   woven
      in a present
                      of golden threads
where waves mist
                     showers of sparkling diamonds
             restful
       speaking
perceptions of a melody
     a foundation on which to laze
                pervades my beliefs
          as I watch a blossoming haze
    move across the horizon
          diminishing into remoteness
                            and vanishing into tomorrow