most of the angels avert their gaze
a few stare, their glares embedded
in my bare chest and just one
watches quietly from the corner

what would Judas think about
the scarves? one wrapped around
my wrists and the other around
my eyes with my teeth clenched

my back is arched above the
towel you put on your sheets just
in case. did jesus ever think about
his safeword as he hung on the cross?

‘Do you like that?’ whispers Pontius Pilate
gasping I respond, ‘Yes sir,’

I toss and turn for you
   You surround me and subvert my thoughts
The operator behind the switchboard
   Changing the wires from stress to love
With the flicker of your eyes         I unwind
You let me talk and talk and talk
   About jazz and comics and magic and league
         And you smile
I see the stars get to know the fireflies
As I lay facing the night
   The grass cool         The air warm
                          I unravel
And dream         (about you)
And our conversations
and Paris and Italy
And your smile      God your smile
   The most potent drug God could dream up
Like nothing else      I can see it perfectly
Like looking through the windows
   Of an Edward  Hopper painting
      Clear

The warrior walks
Dawn's first light in the forest
A babbling stream

The birds are chirping
He wades through the tide of mist
Around his ankles

The stream is ahead
Dropping his weapon he falls
The battle was won

He saved his village
But suffered a grievous wound
He reaches forward

The ice cold water
Brings wet fingers to his lips
A slight refreshment

Savoring the taste
A bed of wild flowers
A perfect cushion

Weapon behind him
He thinks about his breathing
With grass on his face

Remembers, exhale
His wife and child, inhale
Beautiful, exhale

Remembers, inhale
The days long battle, exhale
His people saved, still

Remembers, inhale
Vibrant colors of spring, still
His daughter's face, still

Remembers, exhale
Cold water on his lips, still
Birds are chirping, still

Wild flowers, still
Rays of dawn pierce the trees, still
A babbling stream

Baseboards lined with spiderwebs
That shimmer in the slanted sun
Next to worn, wooden chairs
Feeling sturdier than ever
Shelves and shelves of
Outdated textbooks and encyclopedias
Crinkly and brown and yellowed
How many trees went into these pages
This forest rearranged
And defaced by movable type

When I think of the greats
Of my favorite poems and poets
The words spring to mind
Perfectly profound
Adept at turning the everyday
Into magic and beauty
They know what we all know
They see what we all see
But only they can write
Without losing what makes it
What it is
Perfectly profound

I crackle through dead leaves
Layered over dry, green grass
Hands in my pockets
Making sure not to trip
I crouch in front of a stranger's grave
A rough, stone reminder
Of a soul lost in time
I read their name aloud
And I let them know they're not forgotten

I sit in my school's dusty library
Like a picture taken on film
Full of grain and texture
Frozen beams of light
Through slanted venetian blinds
Capture and hold dust
Suspended like dew in a spider web