let them sleep

passionate steam rises up like a translucent dancer
it catches on the ceiling while we sway to the music
it swirls on the walls and cushions my back, your back
as we smile thanking each other for creation and love

the water falls down like a shield from God
it protects us and warms us, it brings me into you
a drop wanders down your back peacefully, sweetly
as we close our eyes and thank God for everything alive

my fingers trace the steam and the drops of water
as your eyelids flutter and lips part
restful like sleep yet exciting like birth
above us the essence of time smiles broadly

and shields us from the world.

satisfied

the man who never knew

i won't leave soon
and i'm smiling into blackness
sleeping through the edges of
colorful pages in a colorful novel
a suspensful thriller a #1 best seller
or at least it would have been if
i had ever taken the time to
finish writing it

the man who always knew

i will leave soon
why bother i snarl into blackness
sleeping through the edges of
grey blue pages in a broken novel
a suspenseful nothing a never-seller
or at least it would have been if
i had ever cared enough to
finish writing it

the man who we all knew

i may leave soon
but i am ready i shine into blackness
fiery words in calming colors mark the
edges of a lively novel, a #1 seller, a machine
that gave me life because i wrote it
and you smile while you cry at the end
because i finished writing it
every single day.

dinosaurs never made it this far

i am an american
filled with television
slathered commercialism
an omnivore by nature
i hate broccoli, asparagus, onions, and peas
i like chicken, beef, shrimp, and fish
in a day i listen to music for more hours than i sleep
i restrict myself to 4 channels on tv
like some sort of diet
i memorize commercials
like they're vegetables

we are riveted
by each other

and we'll diet till we drop

nonsense travels too quickly

i am the scarred edge of a collective truth

tortured as the irresistible canvas

speckled with abstractions and colloquial mumblings

can the harp play this song for us?
while we dance in rags and chains?

hold brother hold. mock the lessons papers learn
printing me hastily, without research.

i am the legend. i am the key.
sin is mapped out over the entire field.

and nonsense travels further than the most important truths
like: stay tonight.

and: i'll cook you breakfast.

and: i'll wake you with a kiss on the forehead.

and: live without regret, eggs, toast, no ham. a small glass of 2% milk. one fork. three napkins. a tray with a candid shot of santa. shirt, sheets, hair, no rubberband. a biscuit, trust. a fruit, smile. a dream, shared.

and: i love you, come to me and be happy.

a tire, a dream, and a tambourine

wind and mist like rice and butter
a howl like mamma's call for supper
the extra kiss beneath a bridge
like grandma adding 'just a smidge'

can a white cube sweeten the afternoon
dissolving in tea like a southern moon
adding syllables to the evening air
slipping off tongues like an evening prayer

well into the night we swing
a tire, a dream, and a tambourine

sumo wrestle in the park

i am desperate for your love
passionate one i dream of you
passionate one i cannot touch
the angel of my dreams

live in a city far away, love
be yourself and never see me
make money or tease men or drink
but when you come home to dream
there i'll be

and we cannot be together now
and the pain rips through me--
a timely laceration of the soul.

but my love remember:

i am the moment and the place
in which you will find
a simple harmony;
a shared peace.

surrounded

you write in black and white
what color are the evenings
when the sun sets by the sea
what color are the first dates
when a glance starts butterflies
what color are the faces
when they see you unguarded
what color do you find in minutes
spent by the fire on a cold night
spent with a lover on morning trips
spent with a lover over the wires
spent alone on top of the Mountain

you write in black and white
but never let that stop you
from saturating your being
with vibrant life.

remaining red bulb and stencils

the last exit sign
shined bright over the earth
orange and red bright bright bright!
but no one went to it
not a soul left our precious circle
we were together at last we were together
all of us together
and we used the exit sign
to light our all-night dance parties

just in case

i contemplate, too.
i question, too.
i dream of contentment.
and what lies ahead
no one knows.

but i wrote a song
just for you.
just in case.

campfire dreams

whats left is a bruised smile
a broken backyard dream
of grills and children singing
disney songs on guitars with
macaroni and cheese and
hotdogs on a campfire.

whats left is a bruised smile
in autumn with light jackets
hoping winter is cold this year
so that the slopes are soft
and hair back elastic easy
so that the words are soft
songs on a campfire.

sing to me princess, time
sing like the road to freedom
is built note by note by note...

stream of wandering consciousness

yeah so walking through the mall was never as fun as when i was completed. walking around the mall was really something to look forward to and there was the carousel and there was the coke and the falling asleep. walking around the mall meeting people and sometimes sitting sometimes pacing. and talking. a little nervous because i was so surprisingly comfortable. a little nervous because i was so happy. a little nervous because i was having so much fun. wishing i could just walk around the mall forever. wishing i would never run out of battery. wishing i was a lithium-ion man. wishing i was not alone.

where are you and why didn't i stay on the carousel?

God I miss the me at the mall.

100 nights

the story of a life
settles in like a campfire
warm it cracks and pops
it lights the hillside that
others mind find it
to sleep soundly
by its side

my story is no different than yours
put to words birds fly with different wings
but their flights are all the same:
beautiful, uninhibited, free

and what is a story
but a masterful dream
put to words?

waiting for a touch

they call them the 5:15 birds.
in the mornings cool and crisp
dew on the edge of every breath
the birds narrate life frankly
not just life, my life
and they never lie

more often than not
they are my lullaby
and my history
my thursday morning
(the call that never came)
is their favorite story
their mindful chorus

the precious
the 5:15 birds.