why I love certain men


it’s a raining and writing Saturday,
a washout for the beach visitors who chose their
calendar lottery tickets poorly

but hurrah and huzzah for the poet
in the no-sun-today-room with
steam collecting on his face from his 20 oz. Canadian mug,
the rest of him cozied neath a
wooly mohair knitted and tasseled blanket,
from a now naked and shivering alpaca goat in Turkey or Tibet

perhaps we’ll make a tiny dent
in the 1319 poems,
in the ‘sorta started to do’ list

****.
new one sneaks in demanding immediate satisfaction
and threatening my mind’s incarceration unless,
serviced and unleashed as the Frenchies say

Frites, immédiatement!: (french fries, now!)

I love most men; certain men more than others,
not because they are soft to the touch,
look great in thigh highs, can fix a backhoe,
lay hands on animals, just as they do upon their grandchildren,
or write better poetry than me,
because
they make me weep from zealous delight at
their capricious unprecedented constancy of their
honorable actions

they are soft to the core, which is itself
wrapped in a leather soldered steel,
which defines them by their self-questing constant,
asking themselves preface and postface,
doing it well, in between,

what is the honorable thing?

this honor idea of which writ previous
doesn’t dissolve - indeed grows crescendo stronger,
like the miracle of the Yom Kippurs rams horn
crying out to heavens at the concluding end  
on the holiest judgement day,
a shofar miracle for it inhumanly grows ever louder,
ceasing only when nightfall marks a new day begun,
reminding both sinners and saviour each,
to inquire of their colluding selves on this forgiveness-giving day,

what is the honorable thing?

some are borrowers and some lenders,
of anything, the substance or the whom matters not,
but the bonding bonfire from which the deal is done,
is of a uncharted organic chemical matter unrecognized
but millennium ancient


here I stop

the call to breakfast must be obeyed,
for it’s with lovely made, menu man-poet requested,
this is too an honorable thing to do,
and the 1319 half blood~half writs poking my eyes,
can be faced with new courage afterwards
on a perfect raining and writing Summer Saturday
for the next one hopefully and woefully

may not come till the September (Rosh Hashanah/Jewish New Year) when acorns fall

certain men will greet that fall Sabbath/ New Years Day,  
when Atonement begins, a ten day process to the final conclusion,
by asking of everything living and of every act human performed,
for the forgiveness requested inherent in the absolute bar setting of

what is the honorable thing?

which by the by,

is why I love certain women too...

and all who are honorable
will read this honorific and remain
clueless as to whom it is addressed...

oh god, I do so love that best!

what could signal honor even more...

Time to meet the family
At least, that's what I heard
But, she asked me when the game was on
So, I didn't catch a word

We'd be heading out a week from now
Back where it all began
To meet the wife's whole family
every woman, every man

When she said she was from the hills
I didn't ask her where
But, once he started on our way
I was always looking out for bear

They lived way up in the wooded parts
Off the road, you couldn't see
I didn't see just where they were
But, I felt them watching me

We pulled on up and there they were
They made the Clampett clan look good
Eighteen folks all standing there
and two were chewing wood

The one's I thought to be her folks
Were her sister and a dog
The one that cozied up to me
Had a leash walking a hog

There was hugging and some kissing
Lots of tangled beards and hair
Then they stood and looked at me
With that mountain kind of stare

you know the one, deliverance like
where you wonder flee or flight
It was just then that I wondered
If I'd make it through the night

Her ma came up and spun me round
slapped my ***, and said "he'll do"
I wasn't sure if that was good
And I would end up in a stew

A bearded one came over,
shook my hand, and said his name was Clem
He said that mama liked me
Now, I was one of them

they was fixing to go hunting
Which was something new to me
The last time I went hunting
I shot a canoe and a tree

They said that they were hunting
The most elusive mountain prey
I was gonna hunt for ginseng
And if we found some it would pay

First, though, time to have some drinks
Eat some greasy, stinky meal
I think it was a possum
But, it might have been an eel

They said we'd get a good night's sleep
And they started howling at the moon
Time to hit the sack they said
Hunting time is coming soon

My Appalachian in-laws
Made my sphincter close up tight
They had 14 teeth between them
And I don't think one of them could write

We hit the trail next morning
It felt like miles up that hill
I thought that I was dieing
And I hadn't left a will

A sound was heard, a gentle coo
And we was running, in our boots
Clem was out in front of us
And he'd discovered ginseng roots

I picked them up, all scraggly
Like a parsnip,  dried and dead
When a holler came from brother Boo
A monster known as Red

His beard was black as coal could be
His eyes looked at each other
They called him Red not for his hair
Just 'cause he liked the color

They filled the bags with what they found
And back down the hill they went
I thought that this was insanely mad
And then Clem got a scent

Someone else was on this hill
Out hunting Appalachian gold
That's not what I would call it
But, I just call things as I'm told

We found the truck and sped away
To get paid for the days find
We had to make sure all were there
And that we left no one behind

The gun shop and the bar and grill
Was where we would get paid
Thirteen hundred bucks a pound
Almost three grand had we made

We went back with the cash in hand
Howling at whatever we saw
I guess that I'm now one of them
An Appalachian outlaw in-law

We're mostly gregarious and polite,
Like most of you.
We too have our diplomatic trips 'n bumps;
We never cozied to Dicky;
But welcomed ex-pat refugees
For safe and sound reasons.
After the jimmy-rigging, how many re-pated?

And we gagged on the impeachables, all fuzzy and bitter.
He called the father that ******* in Ottawa;
And Pierre wore that moniker like The Order of Canada.
When you're not liked by one, you're a dove.

You should visit CANDU.wow
It has it all.

How is Supreme Leader managing?
Are his...
Are my people... sitting at attention.

We could real news a bomb a la Kim Jong,
Or flip a stone down at Port Huron.
We won't.
But we could if we weren't
The Great White North, so accommodating, so polite,
So Coo loo coo coo coo coo coo cooo! nice...
(for now)

I'd like to think I'm going to marry somebody who loves all the same things I do, somebody who is 'perfect' for me. But that's the thing about love, it's forever changing and there is no such thing as perfect, just commitment. It isn't about finding somebody who is just like you, its finding somebody whose different. Love is finding somebody who grows you and stretches you, it's not always about the bubbly stuff movies make love out to be.
I bet you my future spouse will hate Star Wars, they'll probably tell me that I need to get a shed to put my Star Wars collection in. They'll probably tell me it can be like my own humble abode away from the madness of kids (if we have any) or from the cluttered house. I bet you they'll smile and graze my arm while trying to convince me; and I will be convinced. I'll move my collection I spent years adding to into a shed because I love the person who hates that my collection clashes with our house.
I'll turn on the radio while we're driving and when my favorite song comes on I'll turn it up and sing my heart out. And just because they know it's my favorite they won't change it, even though they absolutely hate it.  
I'll tell my spouse I want a writing studio and they'll protest and say they hate waking up in the middle of the night wondering why I'm scribbling words onto paper instead of holding them close. But even though they don't like waking up alone they'll let me have my own studio because they know that I love writing as if it were a part of my very soul.
My spouse will probably be reserved and hate taking risks, but I'll beg them to come on adventures with me. After debating endlessly about safety and risk involved we'll probably settle for a living room camp out because they don't like bugs and the smell of a musty old tent is enough to make it seem realistic. I'll probably protest and complain but still gladly embark on a pretend camping adventure because it's not where you are but who you're with.
When we go on vacation you'll complain that I always force you to take unnecessary risks. You'll hate that I take you to underwater caverns because you're worried we'll somehow get trapped. I'll scare the hell out of you most times but you'll remember that's why you love me, because I'm a constant adrenaline seeking adventurer. You won't always embark on the adventures with me, but you'll always be there by my side seeing it through your perspective, and we'll always share what it's like through our eyes. I'd like to think that hearing my energized booming voice talk about jumping off a 60ft waterfall will be enough of a thrill for you.
I won't want to cuddle with you because I get hot easily. You'll  still hold me close because you know how much I love your scent and the steady rhythm of your breathing coaxing me to sleep. I'll wake up in the middle of the night give you a kiss on the forehead and probably sit on our bathroom tub with a cup of coffee  just thinking about how lucky I am.
You'll think its weird that I need to drink coffee to help me sleep. You'll hold my leg down while we're in important meetings or church just like my mother always has. You'll give me the look that says "stop shaking" and I'll try my best to, but I'll probably start back up in 5 minutes. You won't entirely understand my ADHD and constant need to move, but you'll think it's charming that I'll always be up before you with your coffee already prepared the way you like it. I hope you'll like coffee as much as I do, but in reality you probably wont. So I'll make you tea instead, and if drinks aren't your thing I'll make you breakfast. I'm sure you'll feel like you married a child who is always hyper and it'll royally **** you off most days but you'll remember that's the reason you we're so intrigued by me. You liked that I reminded you of childhood and what it's like to have fun.
I'll still drag you to the toy store when we're 40 and I'll use our kids as an excuse (if we have them). I'll tell you that toys are important for a child to develop normally, but in reality I'll just want to chase you down the isles with some super hero mask and a plastic sword. I'll end up buying you a tacky key chain that you'll hate, but you'll keep it on your keys because it'll remind you of what a goober I am.
I imagine you'll hate the cold, you won't want to go snowboarding with me, instead you'd stay in cabin cozied up to the fireplace with a book and warm cider. I'll beg you to just try it a couple times and you will, I hope you end up liking it but if you don't maybe you'll still enjoy being in a place I love so much. You'll love being places tropical full of sun and peaceful ocean noises, and I'll hate it. I'll complain about heat rashes and the humidity but I'll shut up the second your eyes light up when you peer at the ocean from our hotel balcony.
We'll probably fight more than 50% of our relationship, maybe not fights but bickering arguments. When I'm driving you'll be yelling and screaming about how terrible or a driver I am. And when you drive I'll complain about how much of a grandma driver you are. We'll bicker about what kind of milk to buy and if we should buy organic produce or just the regular kind. We'll argue about music, movie choices, and travel plans, but it won't be terrible fighting that end with tears and broken plates, it'll end with the cold shoulder for 5 minutes then settle back to normal. We will **** each other off to no end, but we'll love so deeply. I'll always think I'm right when we argue, and I can't wait for all the times you'll put me in my places. I can't wait for a life with you, full of love and compromises.

Dear you,
I promise that I wont always be an *******, even though you'll probably be a bigger one. We'll go out to eat and make up ridiculous scenarios about people just to entertain ourselves. We'll simultaneously get annoyed with people who are ignorant, and we'll spend countless days and nights laughing about how terrible we are. We will argue and we will fight, but we will never go to bed mad, that has to be in our wedding vowels or something. We always have to be willing to try new things for each other, even if it sounds terrible. We will always find our way back to each other, even after a long sleepless night of arguing. When you say you love me on our wedding day you will always mean it, so if the fire burns out you have to promise that you'll always be willing to find it again. I know I'm a pain in the *** and I'm hard to love but I promise I will love you so deeply and fully. Nobody ever said marriage would be easy, but that doesn't mean I'm not willing to sacrifice 'easy' for you. I'm ready to embark on a journey of a life time with you no matter how hard it gets. I love you, you dumb ****.

Dear tired soul,
I have been on that couch many times before
The empty sheets that sit at your feet
Before falling to the floor
The empty pages of memories you flip through every night
Before gracefully falling asleep as the last tear falls on the pillow cases
Stained with liner and half-met dreams

There are moments you stare out the window
The sky so bright you close your eyes and go back to that all too familiar place of darkness
The same hiding place you've led yourself in for years
Thinking no one could find you and your imperfections there
But praying that someone will

I have lured myself in the same corners you've cozied up to, tired soul
Made a home out of the shattered pieces
Of distant, repeating glimpses of the past left after the free fall
My heart has sunk deeper and deeper
But take peace in knowing that as it sinks, it does get stronger
And that one day it will learn how to resurface itself without you even trying

Dear Tired Soul,
Despite the world's constant feeding of negativity towards their conjured up idea of selfishness,
I want you to know that it's ok
It's ok to put yourself first
It's ok to let go
It's ok to take a break
You can not move forward if you do not take the time to pry yourself out of the chains that have dragged you down
Seek consult from those you want to emulate
These things do not make you selfish
They make you better

Do not force yourself to pretend
Your bones have quivered long enough
Your muscles are tired from holding up to their "perfect" standards
You were never meant to be perfect
You were meant to beautiful
You are beautiful, and will always remain to be

Dear Tired Soul,
You are loved
Beyond the stars and the skies above
Your maker has caught every drop of sin from your body
You need not to worry any longer
Seek rest in Him who gives you the strength to open your eyes each day
Take pride in these little accomplishments
Cover your ears from those who tell you otherwise,
For they do not know the excruciating ordeal you go through each day you get up from bed
The sudden battles that errupt within yourself
Whether it be 10 stories high looking over the city or on the ground when you look over your scarred wrists
Of whether you should give up, or give yourself another chance

Open your heart to what He tells you
And wait for the day when the suffering is over, and the crying shall seize
You are tired, my dear
But you are far from being defeated
I hear your pleads, as I have heard mine sounding the same
You will be alright, tired soul
We will be alright

lovely, these pages I sew
for sadness I know not to tamper with like a joke -
a sick joke that people find amusing.
I do not find that kind of joke, or you to be amusing.

I clasp my hands tightly together, interlocking knuckles
and sit very still while the company is antsy to inspect
me for any weakness.
(I am always assuming everyone is out to judge me so rashly)
I am straining my back and the very moment I slouch,
I will fall into the pit of self-irritability,
yelling at myself because my bones persist on frangibility.
God! am I ever good enough?!
(I am always judging myself so rashly)

I want to buy myself a cottage near a swamp, hoarding
the repugnant slime near my fireplace cozied up reading a book.
you may trespass; I am willing to share this (hell) with you
if you wish to get so close to me.

I do though, (at my best) suffice
lingering around buying myself something nice (you could put it)
when I'm aggravated, I tend not to listen
not even to my own advice.

It was a weird hour when the sun towered
To be slick with moonshine
Cozied shirtless in a rope hammock

Belly-down like my six drunk buddies
Living loose and talking sweet
To bottles now empty of *****

So what is there to do?
Nothing, and that’s a cold fact for high noon
In summer, season of mumbly toasting

But when the humble glug-glug-glugging
Is done with, I’ll tell you, you
Have not licked liquor, not done your part

It’s us who got the moonshine start
Today, you turned your back on white whiskey, yes
We did the work and if it should hurt

I apologize we didn’t want to offend
If it’s the alcohol or if it’s the heat I can’t tell
But who knows why blood boils?

I can see that good-natured drinking
Is the drunk man’s toil
But we’re workers at heart, aren’t we?

And not many are better than us
Except for maybe the rice
Slumped over its stalks, fat on moonshine

Cure-all for the sick mind
Friend to all comers on a humid day
The clear sticky juice that burns all the way down

the night is
                  still
                     dark
                       quiet
there is a distinct
                           chill
                             breathe
                            gently steams
from my mouth
                      seen only in the
light of a poets tablet.

the first bird is yet to wake
i am alone in my early mornings prowl.

too cold for the little grey cat
and too early for the human companions, they all remain
abide... cozied up and asleep

as i search the dark cold              
                                          nigh­t
for meaning.

in the distance the kookaburra cackle and chuckle
            dawn has come...

This crazy old man rambled verses of the bible in the middle of central park
No one cared to listen
He was just a crazy old man
Thin, malnourished, his wrinkles deeply embedded in his paper skin
Gave him the illusion of being wise
Though he had no idea of what he ranted on
The poetic flow of his words caught my ear
And pulled me in
"Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."
I pondered a while pacing through the park trails for the meaning of all of this
Night had fallen when i came across the old man again
Cozied up under a newspaper on the bench
His bible was placed under his head
And in  my ear
When i realized I had lost all things
I had lost *you

The tread on yer shoes aint there.
The tread on yer shoes aint there nowhere.
Worn out beyond compare, the whole pair,
so you slipped off yer **** and fell down the stairs!
Ya hollered and yelled the moment ya fell,
but no one came to help!
A loud KABOOM, but no one in their rooms
could even hear ya yelp!
It rained that night ya stepped outside
to a nasty tumbling blunder!
Cuddled up, cozied up in our beds
cause we all just thought it was thunder.

Stomp Stomp Stomp like an old wet mop,
you was mad as a hornet's nest!
Had to sit through what happened to you,
and you made sure of it!
Said you was out there just a cryin for help,
while everyone just stayed put.
You reminded us again of what happened to you,
then bent over and showed yer ****.

Not sayin that this matter is a funny disaster.
But seein that yer fine, don't mind the laughter!

Better go get new shoes today,
or this might happen again.
Land on yer **** like that, I say,
and you might just break yer chin!

Stagnancy living
in colorless morning.
sunflower sunshine disconsolate
the rooster sings
eulogies and clamored verses
ringing alarm bells in cockcrow
cough drone weary eyes
dew-tied memories of
reverie weepy
aching legs and chest pains
cotton cozied pills crashing
underneath plastic caps
prescription taps
Tylenol Benzedrine
relapse body thinning
cities wearing
ergonomic tragedies
encircling business quarter
daffodil rooftops
steady rain descending onto
varnished sidewalks.

Addicts pirouette dazzled the
hazed-minds dreaming of
Aprils and consistent harmonious
ecstasy visions stampeded
by the brickwork flickered with
lamplight demons overcast this illusory Babylon
trembling flesh retreats into the shadows it came
and nightmares remain similar to days before and after.
Recycled horrors lightning flash abhorrent death
whether they be wearing black suits or black robes
scythe or satchel the wide eyes scour gaunt alleys
for fixes to fix the monotonous life bewitched
with false material variety anxiety deity
Desecration City express way to depression
oppressed people hide away in simultaneous acts of
camouflaging fireballs
spiraling into decadence.

Diamond days few and far between
communal woe reverberates through skins
and skeletons in opening of top story windows
during Winter. Despite the fragrance chaos,
pandemic paranoia,
extinguishing elation,
All bodies continue to be
alone.

Dear Carlos: Poet & One Man Band,

have heard these words so many times,
always bemused, trace~smile appearing,
but this time, it hit me like a Blue Mountain
extra hot, micro~window-waving cup of java Jamaican,
that is me, this was me, always, even before
I knew how to poem to music that I had always
head-heard, before I understood that these,
my songs were soul~pieces escapees, my…legatees

I leave them them in puzzle form, surely a piece,
or three missing, but no matter, each piece an
individual composition, standing alone, but the
big picture no one will ever see, understand but
that is the poet’s audience, his own one man band,
no bandwagon attached, a solitary figure quiet
contented with his disconnected discontentment,
a lifetime spent in refining, defining…refinishing

2 poem themes crisscrossed cross in my head,
interweaving themselves instead of becoming
two cells, one split apart, I call this process ruefully
reverse me~mitosis, blending that coffee with
a quarter cup of white milky, leaving me a caramel
colored confection, perfect in unity of trinity, that
combined cuppa plus my insides warmed, cozied,
the heat combined with the fire inside to write…one more

on the “two-to-write list,” in the “draft”y attic chamber,
were two titles, twins, now conjoined; the first, an
expose of why I choose to write these poems, and
the other, why I have a life of few friends, the few
chosen ones; the inherent conceptualizations differ but
cross the same forests and deserts, hid in my own Northwest Territory, rugged and inhospitable, where to survive, it required 
accepting lonely solitude, with a ragged welcome, & an honest mirror

an unequivocal, no equivocation permit, that telling yourself grand lies was pointless because you were a criminal on trial, prosecutor, defense lawyer, judge  and jury of your, ha ha, peers all rolled into one, there will never be a higher court wanting to grant an appeal, what is…well, is; a sad bliss but after decades of trial and many errors, wonderful and awful partnerships; it was modestly
perfected, dis-satisfyingly…satisfying

this goes on too long, like an intolerable avoidance of
answering, there, a phony confessional declarative; the whys un~provided, so fall back on that all encompassing
defense of temporary insanity that was locked in those
self-same sealed cells, carriers of my tainted DNA,
looking like bagels~donuts with holes, no, voids,
a central, air pocket of emptiness, with no surface to fill full,
or to adhere to, a drifter, an observer, never, a full participant

these empty holes, were just fried dough, sugar coated,
a fleeting life~lies of no substance, that I’ve spent
a lifetime trying to fill with worth, and I’ve written a few
moments of kindness, unqualified unreserved loving, but
too few to justify my existence to myself! That’s what
happens when you judge yourself, no defense strategy
can succeed, the fight is fixed, but I write on vaingloriously
hoping that there is yet, a flawless poem waiting within,
that a one man band, can both play and enjoy…

fav poets: Whitman, Hafez, Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, Pradip and so many countless others on this site…

It's the holiday season
Christmas eve to be exact
I'm sitting at home with a cat in my lap
The television is on
A Christmas special
What else is on?

**, **, **!
Says the santa on TV
Trying to spread joy and cheer
I smile a little then look over at you
Eyes glazed over, nursing a beer
Tears begin to well
I turn away
Who knows how you'd act if you saw my face.

I look out the window at all the snow I see
Wondering what is exactly out there for me
Standing up, I grab my coat
"Where you goin?" he slurs, a hiccup in his throat
With no response I go
Right out the door

It's a little bit chilly
But, I do not mind
Walking down the New York streets
On Christmas Eve night
The street lamps are on and I can see all around
The houses lit up
They truly are homes

The family cozied up
All around the tree
Ornaments and lights
Tinsel and beads
I stop and I stare
If they saw me, I wouldn't care
The family inside
Oh, how nice it would be

I keep walking, my head held down
Thinking about the joy of the families around
I can't help thinking
Somehow....I missed out.

I walk down the street
Down to the local park
It's where we first met
But, things are different now
Sitting on a bench, I take in the scene
Freshly laid snow, not tainted by feet.

A couple comes by and I close my eyes
They're just like we were
Walking so late at night
Hand in hand
Kisses galore
Giggles and laughs
It brings them back

We used to have that
A love so true
Now I'm wondering what happened to you
I never thought this is the way it'd be
Afraid to come home
Afraid of what you might do to me

It's time to go home
How nice it'd be to walk the other way
My feet move reluctantly against my will
Leading my home
Leading me back to you

I walk in the door
You're nowhere to be found
I see a note on the couch
It reads "You're better alone"
I hear you upstairs as I walk in the room
"I thought you'd be longer"
You're there, packing a bag
Both of us look down, tears in our eyes
How can we salvage all of these lies?

You come to me and I flinch for a second
Until you look at me, soft and warm
A tear runs down and you wipe it away
I can't look at you, I just wish you'd get out of my face
"I know things have changed"
You're getting choked up now
I've never seen you cry
It's about **** time

You sit on the bed
Your head in your hands
"I want to change back
Please give me another chance
I'm getting some help
Please take me back"
You're in tears now
Pleading in your eyes
I know you had prepared to say our last goodbye

You're eyes
They don't lie
I know you're genuine inside
I walk to you, cradling your head to my chest
"My darling, it's Christmas Eve night"
You look up at me, sadness in your eyes
I say "This night can be salvaged, break open the wine".

I fell in love with a boy. He was sad.
He curled up next to me in bed one night
and he cried on me.
His tears soaked through my shirt:
"I have no answers"
he whispered into my neck,
and I felt the tears roll
down my collarbone.

He cried on me was we made love together,
and I felt his tears burn my skin.
With each tear more of his features
melted away.

My love's skin dripped off,
droplet by droplet, onto me.
His tears stunned me with their heat.

As he dripped away, a rusty metal frame
emerged from under his flesh.

As I pushed him away,
his metal joints creaked and his rusty skeleton
flaked onto the bed.

I was in a puddle of sweat
and I was unreasonably calm
as I cozied up in the heat off his tears -
in the puddle that was once my love.

Coming into credence of the surrounding,
As the perpetual cycle met like a race track.

Current presence dim lightly with another solstice beckon,
As winter takes the sunlight for yet another annual walts,
While moonlight hover more frequently to a sound of a violin.

The inner heart wrapped around a blanket,
Cozied by the sleep of hibernation like camp fire.

The beats come into a trance,
And radiance come to a halt by the darkness,
For it is the reign of fall that cover sun like a shrouded veil.

Such is the time of gloom come to a reflective meditation,
For all imagery end with a last note of a piano,
And seared thoughts say good bye with the vibration of it's strings!

He was a sad boy
and it was even more sad how deeply
I was in love with him.

He curled up next to me in bedone night
and he cried on me.
His tears soaked through my t-shirt.
He coughed, sputtered and sobbed
as I held him, until, finally,
he fell into a fitful sleep.

I knew he was awake again
from the renewed heat and wetness
of his tears.

"I have no answers," he whispered into my neck
and I felt tears roll slowly down my collarbone.
I felt him grow stiff against me,
and he cried on me as we made love
together.

I felt his tears burn my skin.
With each tear, more of my love's
features melted away.

My love's skin dripped off,
droplet by droplet, onto me.
His tears stunned me with their heat.

As he dripped away, a rusty metal frame
emerged from under his flesh.
He grew rigid. I pushed him away
and his metal joints creaked
and his rusty skeleton
flaked onto the bed.

I was unreasonably calm as I cozied up
in the heat of his tears
in the puddle of a memory.

I've never seen black or white. I live through a vision of grey filled with reason and understanding.
I don't have opinions, I have views. I see both sides, all sides, I see everything and feel nothing. Sometimes I'll see nothing and feel everything because feelings are fleeting but time has always been my companion. Time to think, time to seclude, time to make time when sometimes there is no time to be given. I think when I was a child my first step was a step backwards. A step not into life, but secluding myself from it. I will always have a hunger to see and go and do more but I've taken what I've been given and stepped backward to see and feel as much as I can. Always living in that farther place has made me believe I'm not experiencing what others experience. I watch and observe and I wait until I'm finally cozied up in a small shack at the bottom of a memory-filled place somewhere. Anywhere.
I don't think, I know. You truly are you surround yourself with and the areas that surround you. I know I will never reach my own personal enlightenment, or maybe happiness, until I'm in that happy place. So in the meantime I remain the minimalist I was born to be, letting few things into my grasp and few people into my life because I'm waiting for the day I can pick up and leave and take my first step into life.
In everything there's a double meaning.

One of these days you'll be cozied up in bed, big blankets enveloping you as the heat from your coffee cup warms your fingers and makes your nose run.

And one of these days you'll look over, the sun peeking through the window making you squint and you'll see your lover in their most peaceful state, hair awry and a spot of drool on the once clean pillow case and you'll wonder how you ever got this lucky.

One of these days you and your lover will slowly make your way to the kitchen and while you get the pan, they'll get the ingredients.

And as you wisk away at the pancake batter they'll turn on the radio and urge you to sing along to some bubblegum pop song about love written by someone who has never really experienced it.

And you'll laugh, setting aside the unprepared breakfast and grab their hands, romantically slow dancing with them on your cold kitchen floor in nothing but undergarments and big t-shirts.

One of these days everything will fall into place and every night you'll come home to the love of your life and talk about your day and how it would've been better with them by your side.

One of these days you'll spend the night in, building a small blanket fort around the TV in your living room.

And you'll watch your favorite movie but it'll be a good thing you've seen it a hundred times because you won't really be paying attention.

And one of these days as the movie nears the end and tears ***** your eyes because the guy never got the girl, your lover will kiss you gently, then passionately and sooner or later you'll both be tangled between the sheets and they'll be kissing every inch of you, loving every piece of you without hesitation.

One of these days the mornings won't seem so cold, the sky won't seem so gray, and the nights won't seem so lonely.

And one of these days at 2am you'll think about how you almost didn't stick around but then your lover will pull you closer in their arms as they sleep and you'll think about how you sure are glad that you did.

I feel in my skin
in my hair
in the backs
       of my eyelids,
that if there was one
house in minnesota that felt like New York - -
this would be it. Quiet dead of winter, the street filthy out the window,
people wandering the cold dark streets in the night sky
me, cozied up on your paisley couch with a cat warming my feet with its soft purr,
drinking a glass of sweet red.
you, typing emails for your union organizing, and playing your favorite jazz record for me. Me,
                                            in love with you

                  You, loving me,
                                    as silly as it seems to me.

A week's respite is quickly guilted by the call of institution,
resounding inside our ears, harangued to not be...

beguiled we sigh with inadequate sorrow
tricked into self-degradation, Then finally, we're back
Alas!
inside cozied up, yes man! Writing down enumerated tasked
unraveling us back to the scorn that earlier was reversed
Under a rough stack of paper
And an ever-beating heart
Under a disillusioned smile
And a blanket of anxiety
That's been pervaded by Ritalin
signed by the future I call myself to...
Smile!
sigh
relief
comfortably numb
Thank you sir
may I have another?

In college, going home was always a reprieve
Well, until it wasn't.
Those awkward moments when you'd walk in on an argument,
Or when you had chores again
Like slipping back into your childhood skin
But it was a little tight, constricting.

But home made my chest hum,
No matter how tight the skins I wore became.
Home was a historic ranch with a view of the skyline
It was washing dishes with a view
And spending more time on the porch than in the living room
Home was the first place that actually felt like more than just a house.

Home had a yard, and friendly *** who mowed it
Home was walking outside to the smell of fried dough
Mouth watering for a fresh doughnut down the street.
Home was a garage turned art studio,
Bugs and all
Home was fighting over a single, small bathroom.
And it was just a couple minutes walk into the city.

Cityscapes, always changing.
Now, home is a green field, awaiting development
Home was ripped from beneath us like the run down houses two summers before.
Home is gentrification,
Only a few steps from the balcony of wealthy young professionals
Cozied up in their overpriced studio apartments.
Home still smells of doughnuts
And the driveway in the sidewalk is still there
Home still brings back our perennials,
White, purple, and pink.
Home cannot be taken from us,
She is woven into our very fibers,
But she can never be touched again.

Home was sold, beaten, bulldozed, and cleared away.
Home is just a memory.
But I will still drive by,
Smell that sickly sweet air,
And pick some of her flowers.

Here's to you, my love.

every fiber of my being knows
that you will forever by my love.
i wonder if it's possible
for any one to love you
quite as i do.

our days draw closer to an end
and we've been saying that
we are just friends.
but i think deep down
we both know
that we were made to be lovers.
we were made to be a pair.

i found a home,
cozied next to your soul.
i know, in your arms,
everything will be alright.
in your arms i find
my own personal Promised Land.

They are waiting,
In a little black box
Wal-mart rings,
The best we could do
To prove our faith and fidelity

They are waiting,
All cozied in white silk
Snuggled together
Exactly like we should be
For all eternity

They are waiting
For us to remember them
To put them on
To show them off
To all who want to see

They are waiting
For you to come home
And see their rust
And polish them back up
To restore their former glory

They are waiting
Here with me
Like you should be

I want to be reading
A geisha’s memoir
Sipping tea with you

Comforted
By your calm expression
like that undisturbed puddle
behind your parent's house
is that puddle still there?
or has it dried out like our love

Reading so fervently
as though it was a race
between the words on the page
and the excitement in your heart

It feels like home
cozied up next to you
in that single sized bed overflowing
with love and blankets

Its just an illusion
There is no you
It’s just me
Reading a geisha’s memoir
Alone without a drop of tea

10/04/08

It’s Election RAGE AGAIN
Yet here I AM
Cozied into a very appreciated bed
With widely opened window and
Blue October skies
YES
Bluest October skies waft thru
To kiss my right nostril-n-cheek

Unchanged GREENEST leaves
Cling tightly to a transient's home
Patterned harbingers of Spring & Easter
Last VISAGES to Summer
Looming doom remains willfully un-ACKNOWLEDGEd
Looking SO brave & permanently stable
We've wistfully learned this isn’t the case
Via Charlotte’s entwined web, she’s coached us quite well

That garbage truck’s beeping
I hear you
A block or 2 away
Tuesday’s circadian cadence
No amount of voter’s RAGE will stop YOU this time.

Lastly is a beautiful MAN
My SENSITIVE
           Wholly LOYAL
                      GOOD HEART
Rummaging downstairs
Self CRAFTING a HOME roasted morning bean’s brew

This is the stuff of LIFE to love and LOVE well

Thank You
My GOOD guy
For ALL that YOU DO
Without Pomp
             Or Circumstance
                  Or MAJOR cultural praise
Such quietly EXHIBIT-ed LOVE
Is NEWsworthy for sure

So go ahead campaign RAGEr!
Rage on…RAGE ON
CNN thanks you MIGHTily.

Lovely lovely rosy
You ran from my pale cheeks
In my mouth you’ve cozied-
Hiding there for weeks

In my spit you linger
Causing me to cough
When I’m spitting up my dinner
To shed a few pounds off

I think about you all the time
But especially times like these;
the twilight hours.
The moments when you would be
Cozied up behind me,
Taking deep breaths,
Tightening your grip,
Bringing me closer to your heat,
Telling me, with your body,
That I am yours.
That you are mine.
That we belong..
That we are doing the work
Of the divine;
Caring solely for eachother,
Healing one another.
And as I drift further into you,
I am possessed
By words and images..
Thoughts I'm scared to imagine
But cannot ignore.
Because you are my muse
And these are the confessions
 of the Inspired.

Dark cloudy gray day
Coolness to the air
Dankness permeates
Birds on the roof eating
Chirping sounds in the air
Creates stillness and quiet
A cat cozied up sleeping
Looks like rain is possible
Good day for coffee or tea
Inside
Safe and warm
Offers needed respite
Doing quiet things
It offers comfort