And All The People Said

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Let the sounds in — all of them!

Have them ramble around, bouncing off the humidity-coated walls

See which ones bust through stop signs and find rhythm with bird songs

Find which ones look like quiet conviction and calls to action

Then mull about together, dialogue, and make sense of this world with them

Create order from disorder and call it good again

At the end of the day, we must

Into Saturday Night

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I awakened him with a soft exhale
One that was on purpose

Long

The timing of which had nothing to do with anything
Except fate and skin and the sixth-sense that is subconsciousness

And though this was his Sunday
That blessed day of rest
Seemed unnecessary, he said

As we sank back
Into Saturday night

Feverish

Poetry Not Worth Your Time

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Confounded by this imagery
Exponentially excellent
Poignant to the third power
Sunny, yellow, song-filled years
Their brilliance blinded you
Splashed across the cover
Much, much more than metaphors
Words you no had time for

This that you never wanted
And couldn’t be bothered to invest in
Yet might’ve someday deserved
Will always want you
To read with
To rhyme with
Dog-eared, these glorious pages
This book of Days

Your Balls

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It has been raining irreverently for 36 hours and it has no plans to end soon

It’ll be morning again before it thinks to knock it off but at least during this time realization poured too from the sky unto me long enough to stop or at least slow down my use of expletives

For how long we’ll see

I stand drenched in the new-found understanding that you never had the balls to tell me that I didn’t understand you yet you could tell me that she understands you and this confuses me

Let’s not talk about that I haven’t been able to breathe since August and I have fallen in love with the thought of bridges with knives with scrubbing my kitchen floor using my tears with metaphors to protect me and others from the truth that I don’t see the fucking point anymore

Whoops

Changing the subject clearly she’s empowered you

A thought that makes me happy for you

And for your new-found balls

Sunday Arrival

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I left my lover girl, that busty girl, in Some Grand Place

Got on a plane and just left her there

Smiling, she, chasing me
A happy fool, out of breath, certain she’d succeed eventually

Waiting came, then
Watching

Her eyes half covered, like we were playing hide and seek and it was getting dark

Peeking

She didn’t want to lose me in the misty twilight

She didn’t lose me in the misty twilight

She didn’t lose me

She didn’t

Hunter

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I am amazing
In hunter green sheath
I’d planned last summer
For New Year’s Eve

Silk against skin
Cut to the thigh
Your demure firework
Heels on high

Champagne celebration
It was to have been
We’d teach eachother
We’d dance again

Inky ring-fingers
Hilltop house near a glen
Belonging to each other
Forever by then

Linear Track

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You should turn on your headlights and come drive ’round here

Get here fast, then cruise real slow

For this pavement may not be ready yet for such a soulful soul

Such intention and growl, bold and sweet, has long been absent from this street

May spinning wheels find linear track

Have a song playing loud in your heart, so the whole neighborhood knows

Your intentions

Whatever they may be

I’ve no wants or words of wisdom there, and you’ll do what you want, anyway

As you should, but I will say

You should turn on your headlights and come drive ’round here