It’s amazing. It is.
To stand still after the chaos cleared
and the wind blew everyone away.
Except for us.
We blew everyone away.
And isn’t it amazing:
the power it takes to run the lamp that lights us?
To keep it bright, secure,
is something so appreciated,
I could never thank you for it.
Can’t do it. Won’t do it.
You know better.
Let’s go!
The world is at peace.
Again realizing how lucky I am to be here.
Once more I can close my eyes
to envision the furthest reaches of Earth
and all that there is to offer.
Take me, please,
to where I need to see,
to gasp, to breathe, for life.
To be sitting here,
writing this to you, is only luck.
And I, my friend, am the luckiest.
Some Colorado street somewhere,
ignoring the lights under the California night,
just trying to drive home,
and leave the escape
that only took me 15 miles to get to.
What a peace I found in a world so unfamiliar.
But there I was, for the last time
I leave the place hidden in the back,
full of love, full of love.
They don’t care.
They don’t want to hear it.
Just live among them.
You.
I remember when time stopped,
filled the room,
like the haze on a cloudy day,
or the humidity that fills your skin.
I remember.
I remember mornings of mistakes,
nights of confusion.
I remember.
I remember when I wrote so much I could die.
But it kept me going, so alive, and peaceful.
I remember.
I remember the beauty all around me,
in everything,
illuminated.
Hey Dad, they let the dog out.
I can feel her breathing as I sit nervously,
feeling scared in a city I’ve never winced in, but should have.
I knew this would hit me: even the sober get crazy sometimes.
She’s staring. Her teeth are as yellow as a school bus, her breath is hungry.
I am only protected by this locked car door.
But there’s a smirk, or a smile, poking its head out of the anger.
This dog means no harm.
She’s a saint, an angel,
only adapting to her surroundings.
I am the mountain enclosing her.
It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge.
Aimless.
may cause a life of wonder,
Where do we go from this point in which
A carelessness that was more beautiful than you could ever know.
Wind blew your hair to pieces
Some detect a note, but I often catch the elusive apple,
And I begin with the eyes of a man
So broken, so tired!
From his feet, torn up from the marching of the distance
Necessary for respect, to his lips, that he slaps his tongue across to wet them,
To get more voice to keep speaking.
For this man loves another man, but to you he’s a sinner?
When do you draw the line between a murderer of a human and a lover of another?
I’ll do it now to keep distinction between the hurtful and the amorous.
This man, is not yet free to do what he wants.
Two people hid
under a desk for twenty years,
while the sun snuck and shined
the truth up against
their faces. Painted in red,
they continued into the closet.
Soundproofed, their mouths
made no noise in the long run.
But for nearly as long as we slept,
they were forced to stare at the flash,
to look over their backs,
until the next day,
when they disguised each other.