Noble Strength

 I guess this is it.
         You would be
     suffused with relief if
 you thought about it at all
         a tiny sunset

       through the prism of
         your indifference
you see people as they are
    not how they want themselves
           to be.

At best, a moment of nostalgia
     combined with the look
           you give a hired cook
when the party is over...

       I guess this is it,
pointing to your nonexistent faults
      would make it hurt less
  though it shouldn't even scratch
         or bruise

  There are vessels to be made
        and places to go
         people to fall in love with
  playful romps across the furniture
         
        me too, me too

eye phone

when you see some
ordinary thing, that
  makes you want to sing,
like the shadows of parking
meters dancing in the
   streetlights
faces staring out
  from dried weeds
 in the sidewalk
  the hundreds of floating
        candles in the
   sky,
     this means you have
 a human soul
       and no part can be
            bought or sold
and no machine can understand
         the freckles on your face
      or the wrinkles in your hands.

Reveal...Assume....Dunk

You have the right
      to remain
         innocent.

Anything you say
    belongs to you
       alone.

  You have the right
      to believe
    in something greater
        and more wise

  you can be free from
       the greasy taint of
              the thrusting stench.

        while what they call love
      does not uplift you
         ripping claws of
             desire do not
        ennoble you


            The door to your cell
  is not even there
           the chains that
        keep you between
          demons
         on the way to the
              magistrate
      not even there
         the original sin
            that sticks to your chanklas
                  and stinks from within,
            not there at all

  Don't be in such a hurry to
           jump in the cage
just because it's so lonely
     on the  outside.
  

The cove.

barking dogs protest

 and rockets blast in the sky

   who's the real dumb ass?

      At night we forget
the world is burning outside
       love is a cool spring


      we ride bicycles
our shadows run alongside
    kissing your face, dear..

Here's looking at you....Emily Dickinson

I can't tell where your eyes go
when we whisper in the hall
there's something about the window
  the pale light only you can see

The first time you put your ivory fingers
        on my arm and told me about your flowers,
your little breath like petals on my cheek
       I felt like I was flying

 I pray to the arch of your back
     I swim in the glossy dark
in my arms, you are like the bird
     your bird that sings all night

 and when you speak, oh my divine
I hold air in my grizzled beard
  and my heart is a shooting star
       my love for you is made of clouds and starlight

Watching you do your baking and conjure your garden,
       apron and shielding hat become relics
I am old, not young and between the pillars of truth and experience,
     I see clearly the valley and river that line the difference

When I have found myself up high on tower or cliff
      I do not stretch joy from looking down
save for walking by your side
         uplifted by your faunish stride

when you make your blunted puns
or eat little onions right from the ground
    I could not find it odd or ill
 and love you all the more

       

salty days

Be not afraid
when you hear the lion roar
keep watch above
in the lonely darkness
chop your way through
the thorny tangles of the forest

you may feel
like a beetle on a runway
a little leaf
on the stones of a fireplace
a skinny child, with a torn shirt
waiting in the doorway

Remember that the mind
can be dull and the
heart whispers lies to us all
but your blood
will always show you
 the way to go

your greasy, mysterious
 oceanic blood
holds every one that
 came before you
  and they have won
           every battle
or hid themselves more craftily


  you are the watcher and the warrior
the mother and the escape artist
 and so
be not afraid in
these terrible times
    because
a nation of heroes
    sleeps inside you.

forsazhe

The truth of her is flower between keen stones
blasted by  summer heat or beaten down by  rain

There are no others like her, because she stands alone
 When she's lined out straightly, she's drab and plain

It's the rocks in ancient state that are her mother's bones
and the roots unseen that spark flowers into flame

Pity the poor puppets who blindly pass her by
so full of hidden promise, so pleasing to the eye.