very much is how i love you
forever is how long
today is when i’ll hold you

it would be nice if you’d return the favor

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The best conversations I’ve ever had were with myself or while
chattering away with the walls of my living room when no one else was around,
and bursting into laughter from my own humorous remarks.

It all comes naturally
like the impulse to hug, climb trees when I feel friendly towards them
hearing them live subtly in the open, peaceful and quiet
and listening to the playful wind move the tree branches here and there
is an experience of sumptuous beauty,
a world of sounds without words.

Sleepless at night I ask the ceiling to open up and let me see the sky,
and my dear friend the moon comes softly shining,
shares vibrant timeless stories and
looks over me while the stars build up my night dreams.

the syncopated bounce
of the ball–the trees
cast patchy shadows.

i have contemplated many things
big, small, green, and even parkable
things
once i considered
out of a fast food italian restaurant

i’ve pondered
over lakes and cheetoes
but never seafood

thoughts have come
while swimming and looking up out of the water
towards the air
i have wondered,
maybe this isn’t water poured in a hold
but rather our earth
is one big bubble of said pool

things i think and things i feel
have happened with no shoes
and no shorts
often with nothing at all

but i know
thoughts will continue to come
as long as i’m allowed to
come-template

courage in ethos, again in again

i sit when i stand, run when i play.

investing is caressing as human is on the line

and lie

and live

and try

forgiving the trial persecutes the judge

            and do it to be just

            and just because

red carpet and a place called tarshit
wake me to wide isles
“is this materialism?” my communist friend asks.

“maybe” i respond

it must be, in the same way

the test of manliness –
holding oneself horizontally
from a vertical pole

the test of a woman
is how much fake fruit she has
delicately placed around her home

we watch in horror and disgust
as vultures gather on our pristine white cement streets
and clean for us the things we find
untouchable

and then we carrion
OUR lives as though
we’re much better

Sometimes Nature laughs
With us, sometimes it’s because
We are so silly

simmering he looks up to his father’s crooked teeth

bounce as the world is explained

“two wrongs don’t make a right”

fixing his tie, the boy pays enough attention for the both

“you’re too mature to intimidate [your] obedience”

gathering the newspaper for the trash, startles the pet out the room

“and wise enough to empathize why you’ve been wronged”

brushing aside final drafts proudly makes room for robes of black

                                                                                or was it cloth of white?

standing up and seeming cheap the boy finds his way through his clumsy eyes

and away from home.

he knew that feelings were all that were important–

they are all that can be honest

always right

and forgetting hypocrisy and humility a cheek rises in effort to know that ignorance is all that can be accused

that stopping there is all that can be wrong

Tomorrow I go fishing with my in-laws
which wasn’t in the marriage by-laws
but may not be so bad,
because at least there’ll be:
pipe tobacco
and
beer.

The thunder woke me up this morning,
rolling, shaking, stirring,
the kind of thunder that reverberates
through the body, through the soul.
Not Garth Brooks’ thunder either!
No, this was T.S. Eliot’s thunder,
thunder that speaks the words of God,
that speaks of salvation.

The thunder is passed now,
and the feeling grown faint;
the sun is out, birds are singing,
the world seems joyful;
the world except for I,
who hopes to hear the thunder
again, to hear God again.

books of joy
books of mystery and fear
books which make your heart leap
there are books for crying
and books for murdering
and even books for bombs
some books can answer all the questions of life
and some books are just plain stupid
people get published with bland
plain
painful
sorry
terrible
writing
(and some publish themselves)

but i think, one book.
maybe 90 pages
on the merit of jello
in the workplace
would be worth
1000 words.

Outside the bar club, the violent youth wait
for sneakers and boots to find their target
between a kid’s ribcage.
Someone should have told the kid
getting smashed to pieces
not to live like a mollusk with the skeleton on the outside.
This is not a place for the weak,
the muscle is holly, the muscle is king,
and the fragile, the hero die young.

Mostly taking sun

In some huge, heaping gulps

In between cave-time.

lack of sleep hit the fan
things that fade
then re-awake
and keep you from that glorious state
of

who am i
where am i
why on earth did you decide to wake me?