Swings and things

I remember when playtime
booked me too solid
to need vacation.
Times were less timely,
even the lions
played with mittens.

They say we grow wise
yet we pine for our dolls
and first kisses in swings
while searching for a knife
to return our stolen
brown-bag-lunch smiles.

Perhaps youth is a lie
that fools us into hope
that we are all equal
and that all is fair
in milk and cookies.

Do you even know me?
Am I nothing more
than your receptacle
to beat on-
blow up inside-
disappoint (again).

I barely know myself
anymore...

If I close my eyes I won't see

It amazes me how the farmer
can see the beauty in the bull
in an open golden field
free, strong, powerful,
boasting to others its' magnificence
as it's held up to behold.

How this same farmer-
in all of his wisdom-
could lure the bull from grace,
into the seclusion of a pen,
behind iron bars,
ring through the nose,
horns knocked off,
trapped for breeding,
a memory of the champion.

You don't get more naked
than that broken creature.

Until a young boy's innocence
sees the beauty that still exists
in the deepest blue windows.
His whispers birth new strength
and reserge the hope
for the bull to break free
and find the warmth of the sun
in new vast expanses.

Time passes but the boy remains
shirtless and unwilling to go
beyond the half hour.
He waits for them to run
to a place too warm for white jackets,
and too beautiful for farmers.

Walking in the rain (again)

I finally met you
walking in the rain
between Mack
and Geneva.
You were so cold
but asked me to
show you the river
to fly you away.

What could I do?
I wanted to
but I knew you
would leave again
once you got warm
and dry.

Stay.
Let me shower
with you
up against the wall
sliding down.

I'm not ready
for you to go
not yet.
Ask me tomorrow
and stay.

Please stay.

So glad you passed your test

I can still hear the sound of your voice
in my ear over the snapping of the fire
while stretched out on the couch reading.
You left almost as quickly and effortlessly
as you had come that I barely had time
to notice that winter was leaving as well.

No rush

Wish I was with you that day
in the sunflowers
when you blew the kiss-
I would have leapt to catch
even a part of it
to keep the softness from wilting
with the yellow petals.

Can you stay there for ten minutes
with me
and not feel rushed
or that your lacking anything
so we can make this time
ours?

Can I make your smile my own
or at the leastbe the reason for it
to easy the uneasy feeling
of adoring the one
that wasn't mine
by substituting?

Wonder if we will fade
like those flowers did
that fall
and become a kiss we blew
that we could never catch
or replant.

Me too

Most of the time
I find true stories
to be untrue.
E! true hollywood
makes real life
seem lifeless.

My own truth is
sometimes fabricated
by the cruel
who would seek
to hurt unprevoked.

Then there is you-
soft
sweet
smiling
circling yes
for the bully.

What else will
you do for effect?
Is there a way
for me to see
behind your mirrors
without fear?

Feelin shitty-
think a warm bed
would substitute
for the sand
for now.
And a cheesy movie.
That sounds nice
to me too.

Charity Work

Last night I saw
three girls and their buddy
talking about fashion
and the price they paid
for stealing moments
of fame and fortune.
Think they're still paying.

Think I'm still paying too.
Seems like every check
is spent before the ink dries.
Probably would be better off
if I had an accountant
instead of a nurse,
but my heart needs monitoring
more than my wallet.

So while it may be true
that I've seen
certain people at their worst-
your monitor shows
me as my most naked self
without so much as a towel
in this winter air.

La fille danse
Quand elle joue avec moi
Et je pense...je pense.