about waiting

there is no destiny,
only hope.
there is no sadness,
only time.
pull back the curtains,
there is no prophet.
there is no loss,
only faith.

so i'll continue shooting arrows in a fishing pond,
doesn't ever matter if my arrows are gone,
i've got hands and eyes and sense of mind
to know what's in it is sublime.

mother's day

written may 13, 2007

before the weight of the world
saw your ideals unfit
you read books
making sure
i'd make it in this world
and now
the the weight of the world
is just a an article of clothing
you tell me
that i'm going to make it in this world

once upon a time you were beautiful
and men would promise you the
stars and the moon

and now you sleep alone
waiting for the world
to give you a respite
from the stars and the moon

i want you to know
you are beautiful
and if i could,
i'd give you the stars and the moon

but you're too smart
for promises unreachable
that doesn't mean
you can't reach for
what you once thought
was for fools.

because it's coming to you.

the more loving one by w.h. auden

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

about awareness #3

written feb. 17, 2008

hello dystopia,
i am the archbishop of afterthoughts after long afternoons.
i can tell when they're angry,
can
they tell
when i'm blue?

the nimrods build buildings
to worship pantaloons,
while i hide under blankets
like a makeshift cocoon.

i eye eyes
like a diary,
with secrets that shouldn't be told
i like our jejune mornings like a dog likes it's belly
on a pavement that's cold

can forever
ever be forever
(,possibly)
or
does the severed rhetoric allow it not to be

for the afterthoughts after aftershocks
tremble like tremors rrrrrrrr
rrrrattle hang-dry socks

and lovers lips lock
like their hearts are on the clock
an urgent declaration to untie stomach's knots
(and not before long, they undo button tops)

i can sleep on my own.
i am fully grown.
i cook my own meals
then i sit on my throne.
and our eyes realize before we feel inside,
(inaction is drastic when you have the insight)

so i'll answer your call
if you answer mine
but if you're still not inclined
i'll still leave on the light

a "love" poem

written march 13, 2008

you: inconvenience
incapacitating
all that makes me
me.
come back.

i touched myself
thinking of nothing important
and the days i take a
ride on public roads
are the days that
i yearn for sleep.

a monk by design,
i indulge in my dreams.
finding interests in the
insipid, fingers crossed
we agree.
i want "you" more
than i want
you,
as if ideas are more important
than the pleasant view.
love should never be an abstract thought,
it should be bedsheets messy.

COMMUNITY CENTER b/w OTHER MINOR REQUESTS

Community Center

it was i who he not me
probably
say we
be invisible:
breathing out the cold,
precipitation out our throats.

and it was they who maybe we
who fell apart at the seams
at the sketches of their dreams

sometimes he gets down on his knees
and says please please please
but feels guilty of his pleas

so he will breathe and breathe and
breathe and breathe and
breathe (please) breathe (please) breath
(please) breath please heed no retreat

for
it's not defeat it's
the sound of bustling feet

it's the need it's
the need.

and they who can be us who
wants them to understand we
who wants to be we, be it him
or her and you and us is us is us
is us is it is it (it is).

Other Minor Requests

I wish I had eaten
a gumdrop once in my life
so I can know how sweet
"sweet as a gumdrop" means

or imagine Thoreau's
quote ("marching to the
beat of a different drummer")
that the beats all like
bmPbmPtch-- BmPBmPtch da tss..!

I imagine sleeping and controlling
my dreams before they decide
to dictate today
because today can not suck
and can't I just hope to root
for the good guys (the real good nice guys
not this "nice guys finish last" heresy

because if you are concerned about the
concept of last place then your niceness would
not exist in a perfect world) for I hope
that each other is what we are, that everytime
we nod, we nod in stereo.

-Robert Heinlen

“Jealousy is a disease, love is a healthy condition. The immature mind often mistakes one for the other, or assumes that the greater the love, the greater the jealousy — in fact, they’re almost incompatible; one emotion hardly leaves room for the other. Both at once can produce unbearable turmoil…”