We are all poets, lovers, and children
standing on this revolving rock spinning into the void infinite,
casting pennies to the rushing stream wishing for cheaper fares
wondering as far as we dare  
with nothing but our heads about us
and our hearts beneath our chests
kept apart from all the rest.

Friends, poets, and critics, lend me your ears;
I come to praise poetry, not to bury it.
For the printed Words of men live after them
And their words, briefly spoken, oft interred to the wind.
So let it be Words the ambitious dead sing from their graves,
The grievous faults, passions, dreams, and fears of poets long buried
sink into the incomprehensible part of your mind
from where everything beautiful drips, spills, and soars.
A place no lover or friend can answer,
a place where no Words are wasted,
for they are honorable syllables, faithful and just.
Ambitious before my funeral,
I come now to sing Words immortal onto the willing white pages
to the honorable souls long after me,
pressing their own pens to survive the ages.

OVER

It’s when it’s late at night I think of you
My.
Surrounded. with your presence
intense…that for that moment pillows
take your form And you’ve broken into
my home late at night Mother asleep
safe and tight And you in my sheets
Fingers treading up and down spine
Senses heighten…except for the sense
of time. Look to the phone once again
Hoping just this time, give in.
Let go ego let you live in peace
Let go ego and give it back to me.
And I promise…nothing no harm

I’ll fight off the world while I still have arms.

How recklessly we tossed that eve,
Draped with velvet ocean throws,
Into the shimmering, emerald sea.

Hearts blind to beat so tenderly,
Though, we shall nevermore bestow
How recklessly we tossed that eve.

From red wine stains to sand-scraped knee,
With indulgent paddles we did row
Into the shimmering, emerald sea.

Love, cleanse this foggy memory.
If lust had your purest sight, we'd know
How recklessly we tossed that eve.

A grain with highest majesty;
A salty mist, who danced so slow
Into the shimmering, emerald sea.

The deepest amity we sowed
to root your sighs inside my soul;
How recklessly we tossed that eve
Into the shimmering, emerald sea.

My love
Rests on imaginary nails.
My body 'neath moonlit willow trees,
The siren calling, "Hari Krishna!" Pulling the monk
Out from
Under dreams of harmony and peace, to place
Love back in it's proper hierarchy.
Tossing his silken gown,
We prey.

At the end, will it be brandy-wine or mescaline to sugar coat
enlightenment, the purpose,
the omnipotent influence?

Some live to make a whirling dervish swoon.
Some pray to Love, composing sonnets for the moon.
Some find themselves floating, bloated lungs with lazy currents,
mourning free-will.

With questions perched atop your windowsill,
do decomposing wings pull with yearning to wake
in dawn's warning? Your beak,
a rattling, pneumonic drill.

It's a dead end,
fear and adrenaline.
Invite me in
to ostracizing nuisances.

Therefore,
I may imprison myself in cylindrical cells,
pop out wisdom like bubble-wrap,
fight the mighty ocean swells,
or shimmy up the lobster trap,
With inevitable siege by buzzards eying wildly,
shedding sea-salt feathers that won't be washed for weeks.

Still, the mad-hatter trades me one more spill for spill.
And I taste the honesty we sip for swollen memories
whose frantic bodies let fists fly on flushed faces
that we never truly see.

In profound confusion we stumble, blind.
Then, we all forget so blissfully,
once we reach the rainbow's end.

Soon.
The sooner the better.
Daily.
Almost every day.
Wait.
I've waited long enough.