morning light
angels proud of themselves
red sunset
look in the mirror
see the damp infants
limping
history is a seedling
feed it or free it
hours ago she left
for coffee and company
do you care to see her again
clearly its a butterfly
hungry for the caterpillar’s food
blood is used
reduced and coagulated
the storms are raging in the attic
pornographic finger-painting
panting and smashing
she lashes out in anger
lanterns are her favorite
these trees are our brothers
deepen and soften
kiss and listen to these secrets
you are sullen and forlorn
the impermanance of mourning
goats are born to roam
and eat
freedom seeks meaning
while history is dreaming
and i am all alone
in her company

On the quiet nights, if I lay perfectly still, I can hear my own blood flowing through my veins
Surging at irregular intervals, like an ocean finding its rhythm
And I think of how far this imperfect heart has brought me
And of the little girl it contains all the love in the world for
    And how her rhythm will be flawless

The little girl that speaks to me on frequencies between life and sleep
The little girl that's waiting for me to find her the perfect mother
So she can come into this world with my eyes and her mother's hair
    The perfect blend of two imperfect people
The little girl that I will teach to use both ends of the pencil
    But to remember the shadows the eraser leaves behind
The little girl whose smile will make my day
    Whose laughter will be the highlight of my week
         And whose words will be the greatest part of my life

I think of the little girl who will enter this world by the hands of her father
And the first words ever whispered in her ear will be a prayer
    Asking God to raise her with me, so that she can rise above me
This little girl will grow up amidst music and poetry, fingerpaints and clay
This little girl will breathe and her father's chest will be filled with pride
Because at that moment, I'll know that I've done at least one good thing to this world
And this little girl will always know that it's okay to have pudding for breakfast
    As long as you're willing to share it
And this little girl will always know that her father will always love her nomatter what
    And that this poem will always be there for her
         And with it, my soul

To a daughter who is yet to come: I will never stop loving you, I will never let you fall, and I will always be there to push you higher on the swings.

the
lord
fingerprints
upon
our
souls
just
with
his hands

There is no doubt in my mind
That the poet is the perfect
Idiot-child
So blinded and thunderheaded by seeing
And misunderstanding
That he acts amazed when a black cloud
Appears from a truck
When a flower dances shyly with an insect

When he gets to the page
There is no order or sense
Just heart and mechanic
Bleeding ink
With no sense of order or sense.
He fingerpaints over reality.
Of course no one listens to him
-the babbling- the stupidity- the sordid excellence-

would you?

velvet sandcastles made of himalayan salt
pour through the cracks in the earth's hearth
our institutions have become belligerently numb
so we must illuminate the stains
with fractured fingerpaints
watercolors whimsically welcome you in trust
dwell in bliss
in the forest of freemasonry
jump off twisting turning
blinking winding sprays of saxophones

melodic dance
lyrical romance
young gypsies
just for the day

she asked if they would be willing to play a game
picture this, she said
positive purposeful courageous
to remember that god is all around
in the smallest sound
in the stones
love hides her little face
and plays coy
while she waits for you to chase her
under rocks and around the bend
into rivers and ponds
for love's grace knows no end

one....
two....
three....

you and i each took a horn of the bull and rode off into the proverbial sunset where angel dust is the reason our eyes are opening back up after the re-
set. set. set. set.
the sun was hanging out with the moon at all times and the dish never ran away with the spoon but they continued to live in the limelight

which was the color purple
and the only frightening thing was that death was all around us
but he was grounded from taking anything that wasn't his to begin with so we played in the mud and rolled in the dirt until our skin was as black as tar and we looked like monsters who didn't know we were

just
the
same

and the fireman called for rain because he was trying to stop the sun from burning out; we didn't mind and we danced in the fallout until our bodies were sore and we were clean again.
when the lightening hit we started to glow and you screamed about how fractions didn't make sense half of the time and i cried that's a third of the battle and you were already a forth of the way there. we split a fifth of whiskey and commented on the price of fingerpaints and letterman jackets

as we sat on the edge of the pier on the edge of the lake the river the sea
i told you i didn't know if you would ever be real to me and that i knew the ride was the journey but the war was being waged and i didn't want to bring you onto the battlefield anymore than you had to be
you sighed and explained to me that each battle must be fought one at a time and we would cross that landbridge once we got there

we sailed off together in a lifeboat on the way to timbuktu while i sang to you softly:
"your shadow follows me all day making sure that i'm okay and we're a million miles away"
you held my hand as my feet dangled in the water
we laughed again.