where to go when
the whole world is tired
and sad, and tired of being sad,
when everyplace is tinged grey
and waiting
for maybe sunshine or love?
where to go when mirrors
reflect silence and passivity,
and you must possess
strength and voice
for all the women who do not?
where to go when the premise is supplied,
the conclusion stares you in the face,
and there is nothing in between?
where is comfort found
when the world begins to taste metallic,
when restlessness is easier than stagnance?
the next town over is unknown,
and so is the other side of the world;
the arms of a lover is known,
but you are reluctant to rely on sex.
baby you are not so alone as once you were,
and should not hesitate to come home.

europa

i am stretched oddly between
a wild rootlessness
and a feeling of being trapped, feral,
strung out between everything and nothing.
the point is that what i feel like
becomes what i am,
and the diet commercials
and the long distance loving
and the friends who are far away
and the fairy tales that i can't live
and the novel of my life that i can't write
and the urban students whose lives i can't change
and the guilt and the lust and the fear and the loss
is not who i should be.
a right hand crushed in between obligations
and a left flailing in open air
might be where i'm at,
but it's time to find a different foundation.
maybe i could rest on the shoulders
of someone who is strong and broad-backed,
someone for whom the world is black and white and focused
on a single goal.
with gentle hands i will propel such a man
towards desire and fulfillment,
while he swims with me across the ocean.