at least we talked then,
the last time the leaves
fell, I thought we'd too.

while we intertwined
in flight, for a minute
we vanished in sight

and then you did,
before I hit the ground
with a splat but I lived,

to see my brothers
and sisters fall, while
I tried to remember

which way the wind
blew before I fall
again in the prime

of fall. It'll be the
new year, I don't think
I'll live up to my

words of forgiving
and not loving you.

There are usually dreary
days in  Erie but you,
my fathers parents,
never fail to make me smile though
our distance is marked in miles

when your plane gets lost
over Malaysia, don't come
running to me with your blood

and tears in your hands. I already
have a trunk full of it and
it's really hard to pawn because

I seem to be the only one
who knows how to lick your
wounds shut even if

it is after the New Year
when the winter strikes
again and makes us shiver.

she ties my shoestrings
together. so my feet don't go
independently. while I try to
waltz her musical score
of rests through a series of
misfires from an amygdala,
who thought it knew the
best way to handle
California droughts.
instead, arm hairs burned up
and only a melanoma
of false hope traveled.
skin to heart, to brain but you
nestled in a tender gluteal spot.

It's not even worth my time
anymore to try and track
where the Rose is going to
grow when the thorns are
all I can harvest even
in the midst of a kiss.

The wind used to blow
a certain swirl that
made you my world
that now just makes my
stomach curl even when

you're genuine but  
we know I'm Cyrano
and all he endured were
low blows and, oh my,
look at that nose,
even in the best pose

Who knows what kind
of man I am? I've never
held a child of mine,
my first communion
wasn't official and
my back is dry. I
was in it for wafers
and body of wine.
I'm Stan with no plan
and a nothing
saved man who
only knows he
can but needs
to lay his hand.
Sand or solid land
I am everything
everything and need
no band or some
social media clan
no if buts or ands.

we need another
retaliation in the
Luther King way
Fire for fire leads
to nowhere quick
Jesus wouldn't be
anything if his
fists went flying
after the lashings

it didnt matter to me that
you had itchy poison
under your arm, I still
would have held you close
while you say that we can never
be anything more than
what we already are.

It didnt matter to me that
I was on the outside looking
in while on the inside
you're looking up at pulsating
tree leaves while there is
lead socks in your shoes
as the peanut gallery wears
funky hats when you told
me you loved me insignificantly.

It didn't matter to me
you wanted other opportunity,
I knew you'd hang around and
I'd hear your vocal sounds
even if it rained during
shining sun, even if winter
had no spring, I'd linger
and be a singer of your lore.

when my son was younger
he asked -

how old are the mountains
from where did the First People come
why does the sun sleep in the ocean
what is the color of rain

now that my son is older
stronger, wiser and bolder
he asks -

how old are the mountains...
...what is the color of rain


some things don't change.