Clutching at my Mary,
Thinking of the gift,
I’ll always remember
Who I wish to be with.
But some dreams can’t come true,
For life is the beginning,
Try not to grasp to tightly
Before Death comes running for you….
meek- lame
in the presence of strangers
i wander wondering
will I inherit this earth corner too?
what about the bird, the man, the stone,
the sieve and the sand
do I get them too?
a reward for all my awkwardness-
for laughing off
the absurdity of the
adult stranger sticking her tongue out at me in the streets, or the
friend’s endless babble about the pregnant shrimps he ate.
she moves sharp and violent in bed while sleeping
the tender cream sheets do nothing to comfort her thrashing
and neither do i
i lie next to her, still and awake
feeling nothing
i do not try to calm her anymore
sit many,
silent spread out and waiting
to be taken the same place but not together.
hoping their train will soon arrive.
as children they’d sat near to mother afraid and close
holding her hand, small and wondering
not knowing where they were going.
some things never change
now, not brave, but bigger at least and used to being alone
or maybe just resigned.
hoping their train will soon arrive to take them away
on the train now, they all sit apart together, looking away
out the window, avoiding eye contact with all the other someones
outside a sign:
“Use caution when exiting the train.”
and then:
“Please be mindful of children. Please take them by the hand.”
Sound advice
as if hearing the pleas of the silent passing eyes.
cyprus trees spread their
roots instead of settling down
resisting the cold water below
legitimacy
is only one of the many reasons
to have labels
so beautiful
we seem so real now
i just want to poke us
to see if we’re really still here….
sieveandsand.com
i am a real man
and kuding is my tea
beer or scotch and gin alike
they all appeal to me
imagine a switch that you could
flip to turn day into
night—
shutting the sun off like
a halogen lamp dissipating blue to
black revealing blinking
stars and emptying streets of
people and cars
gone, will be all signs of life
(or at least, into hiding:
beneath rooftops and cotton
Sheets—where i’d really rather
be
with you)
at the flip
of a switch.
The greatest part of every trick is the prestige and the end,
Where what has disappeared gets to return to existence.
Now I have disappeared and shall not return until the end of this show.
I will continue to boggle people’s mind with my presence or lack there of until the end
I love my new dvr
taping everything near and far
making me wonder how I went through life
devoid of this key to ending strife.
I hate employers that do not
call you back to crush your
dreams and turn you down
because not knowing is
the hardest thing.
all too many people
shy away from the topic of poo
out of fear of offending
their mothers reading
their works when they finally
publish their own book
someday
the sieve can address it all
from rape to cannibalism
when we want to say pants
we say trousers
if i say trunk, i mean both
the ass of the car
and a garment to cover your ass
whilst you swim
i have boldly gone where you
have not
the deep has never challenged me
hover, and hold
squatting will keep you from having
to squeeze
but dont fall in
or you’ll become famous
you nobody.
being clever day in and day
out
for me
is far easier
than maintaining
this heavy
ego
alas I leave a place
so long endured and enjoyed
and learned my studies and my friends
who’ve grown with me as I have with them
and shall never see the majority again
as we part ways to strengthen- like a stem -the foundation
of the future which will blossom like a large carnation
Today,
beauty cut through me
awe came a bleedin
stardust slipped from my eyes
dark-hued clouds dissipated
At last!
Hope, grace, peace
move closer
warm my skin
Life spent in the LostAndFound
left a pain-print on my soul.
Drunk from the unhappiness,
I threw the innocence away.
Oh joy come nearer
I’ll hold and cherish thee!
i watched with pride
but entirely aware
of a sense of shame
in praising what should
surely be an expectation
and not the celebrated exception.
i work with this girl who is always
working hard
sometimes all night long, often on the weekends.
she drinks lots of coffee and laughs loud and desperately
but i think she is happy in her small way
tonight her friend asked her to hang out
she said yes, until she remembered
the “optional” work meeting she had agreed to attend.
sorry friend.
but i think it’s better for her that way.
i’d hate for her to find out how much of life she misses every day.
I sit here, planning out my students’
future for the next 6 weeks;
it’s strange to exercise this power
over what fifty people will be
reading, thinking, and doing;
power to mark and label each person as
failures, slackers, average, good, or excellent;
power to influence what opportunities will be open
to each of my students for their futures;
I am not only the master of their future
for the next six weeks, but I am the master
of their futures for the rest of their lives,
in which every moment will be influenced
by what I do in the next six weeks.
Do I feel exhilerated or scared by this?
Mostly just unprepared.
cannibals are people who
eat regular folk for food
but i’ve seen to many pigs
at this human trough
to trust the meat at just
any market. if i ate people
i’d pick and choose from those
who are range fed. not kept
in captivity.
within poems to strangers is said more clearly what
is felt than can be spoken.
written and floating in space not real maybe unread
but better than thoughts kept silent and alone
i don’t mind getting wet in the rain
food off the floor is just fine
i swim in the schulykill
wash my hair once a week
i don’t care for combing
or shaving much
and my favorite shirts all have holes
people say i should care more,
should take more care.
in return, i wish they cared
more about other things.
more about others than things
car scratched and dented
with bumper dragging and headlight gone
i will care so much forever
trying to smile with windows down moving fast
I love you and I’m afraid
of the wild, aloof, hollow part of me that wouldn’t yield
unexpected, unexpectedly like layers of frost in a summer’s field
If you were the sun wouldn’t you wonder
“Do I not shine properly, completely?”
I love you and I’m afraid
of the gray, rocky, silent corner of me that doesn’t need
unexpected, unexpectedly like the sight of a ghost in the night’s warm bleed
If you were darkness wouldn’t you wonder
“Do I not bedim properly, completely?”
I love you and I’m afraid
of the sinuous, slippery, cracking part of me that wouldn’t rein in
expected, expectedly like fuel hours lost in the clock’s stern reign
If you were time wouldn’t you wonder
“Do I betray properly, completely?”
dealing with bearded
folk is like dealing with
chester the molester
(who clearly is clean
of chin but mustached)
who is no molester at all
but rather a man of extreme
listlessness
confused because he has been
single for much too long
but the man with the beard
married (as usual) but completely
living like he’s single
these people are the antithesis
of what we call
“whipped”
and while they see it as freedom
they’re wrong.
when, beat and tired we see clearly
the things we wish not to see in ourselves anymore,
promises like tears after death
flow fast and sorry
while hands fly up
white flags fly
up flows relief.
surely this time there will be no more one more time
surely the fan has seen its last shit
surely the sand will hold this line because
i don’t want to do this anymore ever for awhile maybe never
