And I am remiss to tell you that pain is distal, and from time to time It must flow through our tears and wiggle into our skin, weighing on our bosom.Read More
Hold your breath.
And right now, it feels more real to me than do a lot of things. Unless, this too, is a lie.Read More
I See you coming, apparell’d and vaded in stars.Read More
But close your mouth
And don't say this thing to me.Read More
To enter imagined threads that could have been should have been, might have been:Read More
I long to take you by the pinky…to walk this landscape…Read More
Bomb blasts.Read More
And we will stop buying pants without
Trying them on before we buy them.
If we must
When they do not fit us just right
We will return the mother fuckers
The same way we'd return a goddamn defective chainsaw.
We are men!
You are not god
You are not anything
But you are something.
And to some, you are everything.
And know, sometimes a woman can forget
That our world needs the healing power of men.
Our pride, our sweaty brow, our strength and grace.
So, tell Oprah to go fuck herself.
Or better yet, tell her to come and get some of this!
It's self-serve and we're open twenty-four hours a day!
But not when we are drinking whiskey or smoking cigars.
We're closed then!
When we open
We will mist up and cry!
You heard me.
We will let our tears rain down on earth
Feeding the land of milk and honey our sorrow
And the earth will take our tears
Collect them into streams
And rivers and then we'll damn a canyon
Flooding a desert
Transforming the parched land into a reservoir
And with the water we will grow broccoli to garnish our meat.
So, tee it up for us darlings
And we will finish the job with a single stroke.
We are men!
And we will stop declaring war
On things that do not deserve war: our brothers at arms,
And we will let our women love us.
Make us suffer.
Always for them.
So, work the land, wild in love.
In a swarm of bees. And buckets of milk!
And when it is time to rest.
We will tangle our very hands in the mess we have made,
Tip her head back,
Touch her lips to ours
And remember what it is that makes us men.
All of these poems and more can be found HERE in the anthology “A Cartographer”.
Breaking-up my heart again, Michigan.Read More
Delighting my every fright.Read More