you're real, you're real, you're real, not just a dream,
not just a wish. as each cliche comes true,
the weight around my neck reminds that you
remain. persist. insist! we build this scene
complete in set, complete in lines: to speak,
to act, to house the hope that mounts each day
and hour we spend together. so smile, and say
you love-- you love!-- i'm still amazed. i seek
new ways to cause that laugh, to earn your heart
(unsure i'm worthy, i want to prove i am!).
i love the things i'd never be, if you
weren't there to force my hand... the work of art
my life becomes, painted by you: the lamb
that seeks the wolf, the lion protects the ewe.

the color grey; the fog that hangs all day;
the damp that creeps inside these walls; your hands
are pale, head hangs, eyes damp. you made these plans
to move, to grow, to own a life away
from all you knew. regret runs stronger than hope,
more dense than lead, unsettling deeper than you
express. the weight of this! keep it quiet, prove
the heart obeys the will. your mouth, your throat,
your hands bely the waning urge: don't count
the times you've gotten lost, the time you lost
to him while stuck inside this glamour, these streets.
just pack, ears wide, and listen across the hills:
love lies, love waits, love calls. here is the cost
of pride, but still: he waits for hands to meet.

truth is beauty, beauty truth-- this is
all white-lied in honest mouths, in hair
that smells like dye, the eyes, the parted pair
of reddened lips. what's hers is small, is his,
is gleaned from tired fields. the tabled salt
from turning back, the pillared woman who misses
home. she cries, and dries his feet, and kisses
skin of man and nothing more. still she exalts
the matriarch, the gloried slut, with beads
that turn in hands like spinning wheels. the chore
of love comes vain with pride: her face, her skin,
the halo bright with silver gild. she bleeds
in time, she waits to serve again. her core
is lost in white, the unoriginal sin.

this too shall pass, you must have faith, the lord
your god, your help in times of trouble, your hope
when money fails and people fail, the trope
of good and love: this too shall pass, you hoard
it up if you still can. the book still fails
to answer, fails to comfort, fails to show
your life for what it is. in death the glow
is strong, and shines for you in solar trails.
dear dying sun of my regret, please take
my past with you to lethe, to hell, i don't
care which. to freeze or burn or just to die,
it's useless now. the boiling blood, the lake
of fire, the river styx: the man and boat
who take me there, across a blackened sky.

actions speak louder than words.
hours and hours and hours, teens twenties thirties
i am getting OLD now.
labor day election day thanksgiving christmas:
winter, the first snows dropping down frigid
from cold grey skies.
do we sleep under the same constellations,
i couldn't tell you any more.
and i keep keep keep coming back and i always
always will, but every time
i regret it a little bit more.
when is it enough, the words and places
and miles and years, when is it going to be
satisfying, pure, drinkable?
i've been waiting, wasting my best on the worst
and i don't know what i have to offer
to anyone any more.
i'm farther than i've ever been.
tell me, are you up for the challenge?

i crave inclusion
let me sink into your bones
breathe inside your lungs

brazen mouth, shining full
of glory and ego and possibility,
spit your message out now
and leave the hand-wringing
for the castrated puppeteers.
mouth to hands, make the work
that must be done a golden chore:
make the future a tidal basin
of dreaming, and wade in
knee-deep, open-eyed, hand in hand.
emboldened mind, with hands
on keys and words in mouths,
boiling over with silver ideas
to burnish the future into
something presentable to children;
destroy the urge to hesitate,
prove your unbridled path!
lines will be drawn, and those
who cannot follow this new light
are not wrong: they are your
foundation, the legs upon which
your swinging hips and swiveled
shoulders depend. they are
your resource and your rock,
and you are the sea foam
pushing against the solid shore.

i hear you in ageless ways,
in fleeting and passing moments.
i hear you in the low range of
soprano trumpets, in happy screams
of curly-haired children, in
the inaudible hiss of my leaking
sink faucet. i hear you in art,
cubism especially (you are all motion)
and i hear you in mondrian, all
colored inside the lines. i hear
you in the wax they put on apples
in the grocery store so people will
buy them (aesthetics are everything)
and i hear you in the stray wheel
on the bottom of the shopping cart.
i hear your voice in the heartthrob
of a passing helicopter, in the
jackhammer that works on the road
between me and the highway. i hear
you in my sleep, but not in my
nightmares. i hear you in the rhythm
of walking feet, i hear you early
in the morning when it is grey outside
and the geese are still sleeping.
i hear you daily, i crave you nightly,
i dream you constantly, i want you simply.

and in the day, we hardly learn
to stay the hands, to still the burn
to purge the dreams that must be blind
or else a sweeter home they'd find.
the small, the weak, the perfect prey
you put your heart on full display:
he turns and sees, he picks you up
to save you from the world corrupt.
the sun continues shining now,
you learn to wear the kingly frown.
at home, at work, the hours pass
and take their toll inside the glass.

romeo, romeo, romeo.
juliet is trash, and wishes she were trashed.
to drown the sin of thought in liquor,
to bury the pain of love in stupor.
juliet can take herself to bed,
and juliet can wake up alone,
and juliet can get married the next morning
to a stranger she barely knows.
she may be void, so long as she is docile;
she may be empty, so long as she is willing.
juliet, you have a task
and you must perform it well.
to smile and sing and teach him to laugh,
to teach him the ways of your homely craft.
if you think you are so clever, girl,
then you will accomplish all this and be glad
for the chance to have done it.

i wish i had never, i wish i had never, i wish i had never.
everything is a grey area, and everything is a blur.
if i hadn't, would you love me now? you could love me anyways?
the glass of water is full, is half empty, is barren.
i would break all the rules again if i had to.
i miss the damp clay sand, the cold foam on the shoreline.
too many lines were written without your consent, i know.
this far in the novel, can you forgive my transgressions?
as i forgive those who trespass against me.
in ten, twenty, fifty years, i will look back quietly.
the months are long, coins and dollars at a time.
there is hyperemotion where there is no consensus of emotion.

and in the night, he softly breathes
and nowhere else does love conceive
to keep the ancient young at heart
or keep the lovers years apart.
his pulse is slow, his mind is still
i watch and pray and take my fill
before the sun takes him away
and steals my happiness by day.
the heart enslaves the lungs, the blood
that fills his veins, and in a flood
love claims my dreams and i release
my conciousness to love's increase.
so now we two do softly sleep
and seek each other in the deep
where all is quiet, dark and pure
and no more lack does love endure.

a plaintive note, the ringing call of tiny
sparrows, heard across the field. their mouths
open in eager voice: come sing, carouse,
let freedom fly with us! and poor, shy me,
i cannot tell the birds why i can't fly:
for lack of wings, or heart, or maybe air.
my feet don't leap, or skip about, don't dare
to even dance. i hear the sparrow's cry
and dread the heartache that ensues. her breast
is full of gloried sky, mine full of weight
and heat. so fresh from urban pace and light,
it's strange to feel at peace: the world at rest,
complacent in its oval path. her mate
joins from above, and i can't trace their flight.

the more i learn, the less i have to say
about the past. i learned shame fast, and kept
my peace for years: i worked, i learned, i met
my goals, except for one. i watched us pay
our global debt of fears and death, ensconced
in selfish guilt; too young, too poor, too shy
to talk beyond the towers, to see the sky
as more than entry point. but where i lost
my joy, i now have found my pride: the time
has come for me, for mine, for us! the young
respond, both call and reply: yes, we can.
the shame of years is gone, we draw the line
between the 3rd and 4th: our hopes were hung
for progress, peace, and hope. yes, we can.

the stars can burn, the earth can tilt, the moon
can shine with stolen light: but none of this
occurs without your love. the waves can kiss,
the fog can hide, the wind can rake the dune:
but none of this occurs without your heart.
my shame will run, my pulse will pound, but not
without your laugh; you make me stay, i'm caught
between you and the urge to run. i start
each day with health, with hope you've given me;
i reach each night with joy in you. i keep
your every word and breath in boxes taped close,
preserving love that's mine to have. the key
to this is time, the time to share, to sleep
inside your walls, to prove the love we chose.

where once was dark and lifeless
now with vines is overgrown
what once was aged and hopeless
now verdant truth is known
the empty fields lie silent
to keen for vanquished kin
the teeming forests vibrant
in beauty, health and sin
she lies in sleep so peaceful
she dreams the dreams of youth
her face needs but one answer
her heart needs but one proof
the whitened sheets unblemished
invite specific lust
virginal hopes are famished
for courage bound in trust
but years she is from knowing
what girls are bound to learn
and years she is from showing
lust in her own sweet turn
it's spring and sun will chase
the deer from shade and hollow
each rose to turn her face
to light, and she will follow.

in silence we must know ourselves, at night
we must be brave: the lives we lead come free.
they dance as only spirits can, in glee
they frolic madly: no human eyes, for fright
can watch, or madly they go too. yet through
this nightly spirit waltz, no single sound
is heard: no solitary sleeper found
that could have been disturbed. tonight they flew
against the wind, last night against the waves:
in silent strength defying all that day
makes them obey. when morning comes, they creep
back to the bodies that are theirs, the graves
of human works. for freedom sweet, no way
exists: the humans wake, their spirits sleep.

speak softly to the open door
what it hears it can repeat
go gently past the garden walls
where life, melodiously sweet,
can seem to pass on unbound streets
amid the herd of aching feet
where distance (less and less of that)
can disappear into the past
where walls and doors no longer shame
and i no longer take the blame.

i seek more than you'll let me find!
my feet to tread, my hands to bind
in fetters my unhallowed mind.
i wish for things as yet unknown
cracked and pale as desert bones
the hope that lies within my own.
your hands touch more within this space
still there is not one single trace
of happiness upon my face.
should you be singled from the rest,
hold your head high, and in your chest
let love be your unacclaimed crest.
life does not seek to bring you down
or king you with a thorny crown--
still you refuse to glance around.
come and see love's wondrous works!
this does not have to be a curse
so smile, and be in love immersed.