Love is a Humanism
October 11, 2011

Hide and Seek

Who knows why God won’t let me in
on my own secrets?
What is this world-space-time?
What are all these blue mondays?
What are all these green-grey afternoons?
Who is this being I have felt?
She is without apologies.
She is smiling with her straight teeth.
She is running through red lights.
She is smelling of hand soap.
She is kissing my mouth.
What is this wonder she has left
in my pocket, under my finger nails?
What is this word she is letting slip
past her taut vocal chords,
past her loose lips?
What are all these rose-colored mornings?
What are all these dancing dawn lights
and brightly cosmic whisperings?
God wants his secrets back,
but she is hiding them in me.
They are warm and sweet-tasting.
I hope he does not think to look
here, in my body, for the stars
and the smell of magnolias
blossoming in the spring.


two poems for the price of one
August 8, 2011


My heart is too full of clouds for your sunshine-summer soul
and I am afraid I will fall like an overcast day across your irises
I am afraid of the lightning in my bones
I am afraid that I will fall
and they will break open
and my death-marrow will be thunder and monsoons
Storms will spill from the exquisiteness of my breaking
There will be such a sharpness to me
This is perhaps a warning
or an invitation

I am taking bites out of the sky.
It is juicy and made of flesh.
This is a spicy black-burnt chicken night;
I can palate these constellations:
whole with wings and legs still attached,
the head lost to some factory floor.
I want to be an astronomer and live off stars
and silently spinning galaxies.
I break them for my daily bread.
The crumbs at my mouth-corners are celestial.

free verse
May 22, 2011


I am still here.
Word for word and line for line,
I am.
I am ten steps behind,
always until the one and only rapture
of tomorrow and the moment
of all moments of eternity
when you turn, never too soon,
to see me in this world
that is really truly passionately
alive with us,
but in this now,
in this, the final hour
of our long walk through
the underworld,
you are my up-going,
my above, my sky, my floating,
and it is only the heavy silence
of all the not-yous
that keep me weighted
here to this spot of earth.
Clinging to the space between us,
I see tomorrow coming,
and your soul that is so solely full
of holes it is not holy
is letting sunlight through
and I am walking on all
the green leaves growing in the sunshine
streaming from your spirit.
God knew long ago that
we wanted the earth and each other
more than any fated heaven he held,
and when we reach the last cliff
of the walk to our rapturous tomorrow,
we will leap, heels up,
knowing that falling is a way of flying
and that there is eternity in this,
the moment we have,
when all the spaces have been traversed.