I do not claim to represent.
I humbly present my claim.

______(Begin Forwarded Message) ______

3 April 2014
Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
From: me@example.com
To: THC@TheHumanCondition.net
RE: present

To whom it may concern:
I have been subscribed
To your service
Involuntarily.
Two springs ago there was an anniversary.
An old friend tempted me
Under the guise of celebration.
That is not to say
There weren’t suspicious omens about;
Oh, what I would give
To have heeded them!
I’m afraid you provide
A service which far surpasses my needs
(Such that it is the only thing I want).
Your free trial led me to believe
Led me
To the promised land
Only to enslave me there.
The fertile grasslands,
The forests, and the island shores
Mock me in my imagination.
Your service has been
deemed surplus.
The benefits
no longer
justify
the cost.

______(End Forwarded Message) ______

I humbly present my claim.
I do not claim to represent.

The world slowly spinning:
one of the few constants of life.
Growing up, we learned the sun’s rays
were not to be charged
with waking us in the morning.
Schedules change;
excuses are made.
Life greets us with delicious variety.
Someday,
when we’ve managed to **** each other off,
one thing will remain:
the world slowly spinning.

The empire is in flames.
I watch from a stoop.
Blazing orange turns to gray;
I've cried out all my cones.
All that remains is the twisted
corpse of happiness.
Fate's disembodied laugh
silences the moans.
Harmony has be replaced by
a more pensive, gloomy anthem.
Ash falls from the sky,
filling a bird's nest.
I will die a warm, lonely death.
A butterfly, exhausted, lands on
a withered rose.
The empire is in flames,
so I light my blunt and walk away.

tonight a girl stands on a bridge.
the midsummer breeze dances around her curves.
it begs her to come play.
her heart beats steady.
her gaze is motionless.
the changing air steals a whisper.
"we are moving into the house of Aquarius"
under the bridge a man sleeps.
in a few weeks he'll turn fifty-eight,
but he doesn't know that.
he hasn't had a birthday celebration in years.
he hasn't had anything to celebrate in years.
the bridge is home now.
above  him,
a girl is rediscovering herself.
a girl is rediscovering her fear of heights.
she looks 25 light years above her, at Vega.
in a way, she thinks, she is like this star.
she is about midway through her life expectancy,
but her light died a quarter century ago.
the man sleeps soundly.
a smile is spread across his face.
he is dreaming of his dinner,
a footlong sub.
extra olives, just the way he likes it.
it was his first meal in several days
but tonight, his stomach is full.
he has come to like the grease on his face.
it shows he has survived many challenges.
the hardships have only made him wiser.
the girl, she minored in astrology.
she was fifth in her graduating class.
debt lurked deep in her mind.
it polluted her every thought with
reminders that she was not in control.
now, she tries to justify her current position.
on the bridge.
looking out at Lyra, partially hidden by clouds
"nothing I do will matter."
she reconsiders.
she recalls an anecdote she overheard
on the subway, or somewhere:
"when you're dead, you're dead for a looooong time"
she smiles. kids say the darnedest things.
tonight she curses her 'lucky stars'.
nothing the girl does will matter.
tonight she will become a woman.
tonight she will give  herself to the wind.
the man will find her in the morning.
the man will chuckle to himself.
"they always make it down here,
one way or another"

I asked the Master of Shadows
How long I can sing

But was soon interrupted
By a cry from the weak

The master screamed his last
Triumphant first roar
I’m alive

Then the master whispered
His last reassurance
I’m alive

In this moment I watched
A tree reluctantly let go of the dirt
Its best friend
And though it hadn’t happened yet

I asked the Master of Shadows
If he would accept my gratitude
He told me to thank my lucky stars
But I was greedy

I saw undying potential in the sky
So I wished Haley grant me happiness
Crossed myself three times

Shadows thicken across the hallway,
As the aging master sleeps and smiles.

Catch me in the act.

Catch me destroying
evidence
on the riverbank.

Evidence of daydreams,
of picnics in the grass.
Grass so green it has
never thirsted
But drank so heavily
when we spilled that 2005 bordeaux.

I promise you:
this is not a poem.

This the red-winged blackbird,
narrating (singing)
as I push you on a swing.
catch me smiling, helplessly,
when you turn around

Catch me because I’ve fallen
not because you pushed me;
I never watch
where I’m going