Swimming through my blood again
The same soulless feeling
A boy found at ten

Empty silhouettes haunt my bed
Strands of blonde
Like a noose tied around my neck

Choking me slow
But what is pain to a portrait
Caught in the fire of a burning home

Annoying thoughts can color dreams,
which proselytize their wanton schemes;
Intriguing worlds come into play,
while clouds of perception waste away.

The doldrums of this mournful scene,
can shatter hopes of a life serene;
A struggle lasts beyond the days,
in melancholy moments here to stay.

How do the clouds relieve our pain,
in subtle spaces which shall remain ?
Among the woolly white of fluff,
destructive signals call our bluff.

How soon the notions that perceive,
a chance to grow, a chance to grieve;
For when the night calls to the clouds,
it wraps the daylight in its shroud.

This wretched war of twenty years,
has finally come to an end;
Our soldiers and our pilots know,
coming home is around the bend.

The sacrifices our folks have made,
to bring aid to a foreign land;
With hesitancy they leave this place,
as the U.S. government has planned.

Yet while we save our very own,
many folks are still left behind;
who supported us and fought along,
our forces in this treacherous time.

Please, save the Afghan interpreters,
and those who nursed us when in need;
It's our duty to see they have a place,
of peace and calm--it's in our creed.

Let's cheer them well and bring relief,
from the enemies we've bravely fought;
We're bound by our word, the President said,
or else these heroes will be forgotten.

To higher ground our spirits soar,
when citizens pledge with honor;
For AMERICANS are the fortunate ones,
who live freely each passing hour.

The naked world defines my sorrow,
and leaves me hungry for more;
Of cherished moments under the sun,
with salt-sea kisses from a distant shore.

While lapis light shoots from the sky,
my heartbreak trends toward the stars;
Which hold my thoughts in shining array,
creating images that carry my scars.

Still wounded and faint I walk alone,
seeking solace from the nightly echoes;
Which color my sadness and regret,
leaving me cold as the winter's snow.

If this is the time I fade away,
then perhaps it's only a dream;
A phantom notion that plagues my soul,
reaches its heights--finally peaceful and serene.

a frozen flow, like an unfamiliar face
dripping from void to void
sculpts viscous memories from deceitful clay
into echoing tales of a never-was
that bears the fruit of the never-will-be

but perfect waves, like open-endings
are immersed in the possibilities
of living in nothing and no thing
transmuting the phrase "will not be"
into anti-vocabulary

I stole a sheet from the test papers
For my hands are filled
Already with ink
from exhausted pens
Well, that is all I planned to say
But I must keep on this ramble
Only these words feel real
Only they keep me warm

Sun dies gently behind the clouds
And gossips scatter around
Girls in blacks
And yellows and reds
Scarves dyed in greens, browns
And blues
Intricate galaxies stitched
On their swaying tunics

I do not dissolve here
In these beautiful tides
and their slow dance
Not with a carnage stuck in my chest
Not with the bleached dawns
Rising and rising restless
And we’re all fighting, yes, we all are
Why then
Is this field so lonely?
Not a mourning, not a deafening blast
Is heard

A barricade of silence
I wrap around us
Us, I,
The boy
who constantly yells for freedom
And the girl
Who will let him not

Then again, us
I, the two children inside
One weaves a step out of his fingers
Other hops on
Peeps out of my eyes—
“Do they want me yet?”
“No”
“You, then?”
“No”
What then is wanted,
They wonder
But do not say—

It is an ungrateful inquiry
All luxuries they have known in this house
Crowns and swords, dresses, blooms
None kept from either
Why must
Then they want out?

Then the guys pass by
The scarce colours
that fill up their clothes
And hoarse laughs erupting
Their uncovered heads
And princely gaits

I belong there,
No more than here.
Not in flowers, not in bees
Do I blend
Not in capes, nor veils

No weapon I wish to hold,
Not an anklet studded with gold

In the grass, I cross my legs
Far from beetles
Far from wasps—
I watch red ants crawl up my shoes
Crush them, I do,
Casually beneath my fingers
One, then, three and more
Until dusk is silenced
by the night

Not a beetle approaches
Near
I wear the shimmering skin of a wasp
Not a wasp calls
I am skin only

Later,
The black sky comes
And takes us far.
The girl climbs up my spine
And pulls the boy along
They zip me open
And crawl out
Sit next to me, and they sing a song

I am the castle
Who could not help them live
I am the rusty duel
They were born to fight
Yet love me still, they do

And the crescent—
It is a woman nor a man
A crescent it is,
a crescent, stays

And when darkness comes
And eats the world
We join our hands
And build a softer one
But what good—

It is too dark to write now.
The lights flicker like stars
with smoke sickened
They pound in my head, pound and pound.
I hope the ramble
Was worth the theft

Sitting in the nearly faded sunlight,
feeling early summer's warmth--
As its mercurial rays bounce about,
then linger on the wicker chairs,
and soaring upward to the still and stalwart
birch trees--
an occasional breeze dropping leaves on the
red-brick yard below.

Above us glows the day's calm and azure
sky--
Where floating clouds paint a softened view,
and the sun continues to shine on the sea-green
waters of the pool--
Appearing like dancing diamonds.

My arms and legs shift delicately--
to catch the rays of the 'golden god' of the Solstice.
With flushed cheeks I then observe the birds,
nestling among the trees,
preparing for the season--their voices singing
through the white-hot zephyrs.

The stage now set for a glorious afternoon,
as the children jump into the pleasant spring
of celadon waters--splashing, howling, screeching
with laughter--
Enjoying life, as it should be !

However notoriously must one picture my being,
None may surpass,
This horrid creature of me.