What silly friends I have,
so busy and active,
always losing their virginity,
getting into fights,
having miscarriages,
running away from home.

So far away they are and they
come to me to confess but I
am no priest. I am not even Catholic!

And yet, with no routineness,
no certainty,
no schedule,
they come back to me to confess
everything they feel they have done wrong.

And all I can do is try not to be parent-like
in my advice and responses because I fear
nothing more than turning them away.

No, I'm not disappointed, just promise me
you'll be careful, okay?

And all I can hope is that they are careful
because I will do nothing but worry about
every little thing they do and it will stay on
my heart and I will remember that no one
knows but
me and
them and
Him.

Dear god, it must **** to be a priest.

The other day I wrote another poem about you
And I posted it on here,
and it received a plethora of views
But,
I only wish you could see it too
And uncover the truth of my feelings towards you
Yet I must begin to force myself
to realize the truth
you will never again want me
the way I want you.
And I can write you poems
everyday especially for you
Even making them rhyme,
the way you like them to
But I guess by now
my words hold little precedence,
For thou no longer longs for me

Sailboats glide through waters calm
albatrosses dive head first intro cascading waves
yellow fins scatter and glue together again.

Green leaves wrap and brown vines slither clumping into a floating mass
orbiting globes ride along the surface
oblong noses push the orbs closer and closer
delve deeper in and see their glow
blending colors straighten out and wavering lines grow stark in contrast
yearning arms reach into and pull self into...inside
exit signs alight red and darkness fades to bright.

Where do good ideas come from?
They shrivel away from the hypnotizing light of a virtual socialite
They grow toward the sun out above the clouds
Ever-present from birth to death,
They're the latest permutations of the same explosion that started that
Fusion core up there running
Running without stopping for a billion years
Fueling the experiments of life that consciousness spontaneously manifested
Across the planets
Each a test of a different vibrational frequency
Incompatible with one another but coexistent
Mercury's barren silver mines
And the Venusian valleys
And the regal red sands of Mars
And Jupiter's infinite wisdom and so forth to the edge of the Oort Cloud
And the green and blue ecology of earth, the waterworld
Where the entire drama we've seen so far has been carried out
The audience has grown in appetite
And doesn't always see that it too is the performance
But the unwilling blindness is all part of the sublime suspense of this subcosmic game
The planetary curiosity,
Can we make it? Would it matter?
We'll never truly die when we forget time

This picture is old.
The paper is fragile like a page that has been worn thin.

The film is in black and white, like a fading memory.
And it’s a perfect square.

I’m related to the three people in it,
But have only met one.

A young man, later to be called Grandad, a word still unfamiliar and foreign..
His uniform is freshly ironed.

He will become a Staff Sergeant.
He will **** Nazis.

He will get married.
He will have four kids.

And none of them will know
What he has done.

Until he writes a book about it
Just a few years before he dies.

There is nothing to say except
I wish we had more time.

sometimes a kiss is just a kiss.
sometimes it doesn’t represent
love,
or need,
or loyalty.
sometimes it is just one pair of lips
against
another.
no sparks,
no lust,
just touch.

One, where the pale sea foamed at the yellow sand,
With wave upon slowly shattering wave,
Turned to the city of towers as evening fell;
And slowly walked by the darkening road toward it;
And saw how the towers darkened against the sky;
And across the distance heard the toll of a bell.

Along the darkening road he hurried alone,
With his eyes cast down,
And thought how the streets were hoarse with a tide of people,
With clamor of voices, and numberless faces . . .
And it seemed to him, of a sudden, that he would drown
Here in the quiet of evening air,
These empty and voiceless places . . .
And he hurried towards the city, to enter there.

Along the darkening road, between tall trees
That made a sinister whisper, loudly he walked.
Behind him, sea-gulls dipped over long grey seas.
Before him, numberless lovers smiled and talked.
And death was observed with sudden cries,
And birth with laughter and pain.
And the trees grew taller and blacker against the skies
And night came down again.

I just want to put my lips on you.
I want you to feel what my kiss feels like against your skin.
You're beautiful on the out and you're
Beautiful on the in
Beautiful
Like a sun kissed beach in the dead of winter,
Like a leech
I will shed you of your skin and **** you down to the ocean and encourage you to swim
Dive in.
Like Trey Songz, but you're sexier.
The *** will be messier
-because I'm so attracted to you
Linguistically attached to you-
Borderline infatuated
Suspended in poetic serenity.
I just want to put my lips on you.
I want you to feel what my kiss feels like against your skin.
I want to worship you in places that God would surely tell me were unholy and forever-more my temple will be barricaded with sin
And I'll tell God,
Tonight, I am not Christian.
Tonight, I want to make devilishly passionate love to you
Tonight
You will feel my lips against your skin.