…wake after wake
The toil and over-turned earth of it, for but a dearth of believable dreams.
No hands have grip enough to seize a hope,
no whip sharp enough to crack out a wish’s wheeze
That’s your fist in the fight…
The first time was strange as most first times go…
Against all my heart has loved I hold a difference and a debt
It was a rickety rack and a rook at risk, all chess to be checkmated, I swear.
Like pines that chase the fawn.
You…pulled the breath from my lungs.
Read me with a genuine desire to see me.
The cloth of music is sewn as the spiny drum spins its wonder-thread.
Swing your smile on my heart like children play
But I’ve become a worn welcome to chance, having dreamt near all I’ve done.
I have exactly three cardboard boxes that smell of musty rental storage.
I don’t dare care. Against what they say, I know.
The past is a curious optic.
What was always at the punishing verge of those who push knee past bloodied knee…
I’m but one of a too-chaotic crowd.
And wheels within wheels is each cloud rolling across her eyes as they uplift…
Because two-steppin’ spins are highfalutin…
There’s a numbness in your sadness…
I’ve heard some say, ‘reason reigns.’
I am poetry.
So were the halves of one homeless man…
…it’s okay for my heart to have a few irreconcilable differences with my mind…