old with you

as we forget each others' names
and sink into our mental haze
our feeble limbs will clutch and grasp
remembered strength, in one embrace

our milky eyes will search and scan
our faces, so confused and drawn
and I will wonder who are you
so beautiful, familiar one

and though you cannot place my name
I'll see and know that you are mine
because you'll guess from beyond time
that you once knew: you're meant for me

and you can be the cauliflower, I will be the broccoli
I want to vegetate with you persistently,

persistently.

the future for a walk

I love to walk your dog with you.

I know we're only starting out,
and I am perfectly
comfortable
now, not being the one
to pick up the shit, as we walk along
- that's still your job. And rightfully so!
She is still your dog, and will always be.
But at some point,

I feel like a shift will occur:
it's already in motion inside of me -
every bother and burden that you must bear
every trouble and nuisance that's yours, by right -

I want to put in for a share of my own.
in your fight,
with your grief
as my care

for life

try.

Is it even sense
can a person worthily try, try hard
without purpose
or intent
or end result in mind to achieve? Can a person
just TRY HARD?

In GENERAL?!

And not actually be trying
to create some further end
result by that try?

Well fuck. If not,
then that's why I'm awesome.
Because I do, and
I can.

And the result WORKS. Fuck attempts
at outcomes, fuck
such things, they are beneath me, fuck
far beneath me, if I'm honest. I TRY
WAY
HARDER
THAN THAT. Good luck
if you think your "purpose," so directed and driven
can deliver a better result.

Point is:
I try so hard.
I recommend you
try it for a change,
if you haven't already.

You may be surprised at
what purposes, better than yours, you achieve
by giving the uncharted seas of your unsteered boat
every inch of your back and shoulders, projected
down back and out along every one of your oars. Don't
worry about rocks and reefs, it's a metaphor!

you're not even at sea, buddy!

You should get out there, maybe.

goodbye kiss

a kiss of death -
just luck, I guess
between two friends
the way your fist
just hit
my chin, so
perfect,
just
my legs
went out and knees
went to the side, it was
a fight - my head
fell so far left
and cracked
against the
curb,
and if I had
(but I do not: it's all
gone
black)
one word: a breath,
to say before I float away,
my soul
a paper boat
down river red
to gutter sea -
I'd try to catch
your eye
"it's me!" - and breathe

one word

as clear
and true -

"sorry"

- as I've ever said

or you have ever heard.

oh! how

sorry

you

that old couple

I used to think
when people talked about wanting to be
that old couple, what they meant was, basically
"we'll have to fake it, but could be fun!"

Could be fun. and
after a while, the hang of it
could get pretty convincing. That's how I thought
that old couple must have always pulled it off. But
suddenly I think I was wrong, 'cause girl

I have only just suddenly met myself
and my future, and you and all
the signs point to us. We are
already that old couple. Right
the fuck now. While we're still
young,

carousing,
discussing baby names objectively,
planning to strike a fairly late 1960's
adulthood chic, our ritual cocktail
and blowjob tradition after whoever's
hard day at work (if such a grisly thing
should continue to be necessary,

it can be bourne, given
sufficient panache). but when

You called me your porch-swing guy. And I
knew exactly what you mean - I saw it, I
have not even had a chance to sit down
with you on an actual porch-swing, yet
in an instant, I knew we were already

in full, gentle swing

in the way
that my shoulders
and your so soft curves
and all our limbs together
settle in, infinitely
new and every combination,
every intertwine perfect as if
each of us could be the other's hammock,

I can't wait to go hunting
for the house with a big front and wraparound
side porch, and begin
to sit and swing. You
get the sun tea started, you

are the one

with whom I already fully intend
to putter around.

big believer

I'm a big believer in blowing your nose
in UFOs
when you can't identify what just flew by,
what does that let you know?
I'm a big believer in hunkering down
when the time has come to remove your clothes,
burn yourself brown,
scrub yourself down,
or to close the show and get out of town,
I'm a big believer in letting the curtains close
before letting the water flow too full blast
before taking too deep a bow,
especially when any audience
has long since last scene been filing out,
in a standing and ambulatory ovation,
now - maybe
ask yourself: is there far too much
in this world to believe in?
and pick one thing
where you can't say just how
or why it works for you. Take that,
and let it be your gut feeling. Tell me:
"I don't know. It just feels
right. True," and we then
will share a healing smile, and
nod, and knowingly, full well
will we sleep together
in the fullness of time,
in this blessed guiltless guileless
blameless and inexplicably pillowless
restless dreamless sleep, so typical and deep
of we big believers

how much of a second chance

How important did you want me to be to you, again?
because I don't know if there's enough meaning left over
from the time it first meant anything
for us to be able to consider this a "chance,"
second or otherwise

how much of a shot does a chance have to have?
if one of those
star-crossed
one-in-a-million
against-all-odds shots
is what you're after,
well

ok. I guess

you got it.

beginner's luck

you just bested me
at my own damn game, you cheat!

I mean,
I didn't even teach you the rules, yet
or school you on the little tricks,
or tell you the object

it's just as if you were born to it,
you took to it like a thief, but let's
call it a win, ante up again, double
or nothing, darling

and let's see who's in.

casual friday

he's hung himself
by the neck until dead
incrementally,
using a different neck tie
of impeccable width
every day, drawn tight
the only thing to mark himself out
in the fight
by muted hues striped
over vibrant tones
his complexion flushed rose
over flawless knot
the peripheral black's closing in
fullscreen
he had choice last words
for one last-gasp scene,
mordant and dry - cut and framed
for effect, but he's seen
suddenly

they're no good - not yet
the scene's not set
and the humor feels false
out-of-place, no fun
but like everything in life
he just pulls it off

apologia

I talk so much shit
that I mean way too hard
and I can't tell the difference
between light and God
except I can't read the word
written on this page. Well,
the sun must have set then.
Let's call it
today.

"When I freestyle, I tend to disrespect the indefinite you."

I DEMONSTRATE MY METHOD
AS I
FIND A WAY TO GET IT
I CAN
TRY TO SHOW YOU HOW I FLOW
BUT YOU
WOULD JUST FORGET IT I AM
WAY
BEYOND THE KEN OF MOST, I MEAN
YOU KENS ARE WAY TOO SMOOTH
IN FRONT,
YOU KNOW (JUST WHAT I MEAN)
THERE'S NOTHING GOING ON BELOW,
AND NOTHING GOING ON ABOVE,
YOUR HEAD'S AN EMPTY RUBBER BULB.

YOUR EYES (THE WINDOWS OF THE SOUL)
ARE PAINTED ON.
YOU'RE ALL FOR SHOW,
AND NOTHING IN THE BOX OFFICE
- NO GATE RECEIPTS,
NO BUTTS IN SEATS,
YOU'RE PLAYING TO AN EMPTY HOUSE. WELL
SCRIPT YOURSELF AN END,

MY FRIEND: THE RENT IS UP.

YOU'VE BEEN RELEASED.

white cat

that cat's fluffy hackles are up
on her back
but that's just a little warning
to the declassé
since anyone could see she's quite unconcerned
with insouciant slink
in every step of her way

artifice is nature: ours

artifice is just the new name for nature,

artifice is the nature we make

it's in our nature

it's entirely ours

not entirely safe

but nothing ever was

artifice is red in tooth and claw
and deadlier still by far than all
that the nature of the old school
(we still belong)
can bring against us now,

ow, ow

to do us new harm -

which it will. we'll die

regardless,

pierced, punctured by wounds
made by any number of things
in any number of ways,
including our own devices
of our own design.

It's human nature, artifice
is human nature

humankind

's not unnatural at all.

There's not a thing unnatural

about what you make

or fake,

like a bird

adorning its plumage with accessories
to attract a mate

we do the same

with our language,
our bearing,
our visage,
our genome,

and our fate.

so, your utopia

so your utopia got dissed by some visionary nay-sayer
with some pointed questions to puncture the heavens
you'd been planning on to power the mechanics
of your hydrodynamics, your freak economics

the second that they all aligned into existence
the minute, the moment, the hour, the nick
of time was on your side, until
this bastard had to bring up some nit to pick
holes in, holes

that you knew you had looped,
isolated, neutralized, covered
six ways to the sabbath as long as no sick,
smart, cynical bastard had to have it
all laid out, cut
and dried, and
bled,

died

false idol

you idolize yourself too much
it's hideous, that thing you put
up on its dirty pedestal
I wish you'd see the thing we have
erected in our minds to you,
upon a column, burning white
which you yourself have set upright
its marble gorgeous, perfect, flawed
as you have made yourself revealed
and no, we do not worship you.
We hold you in a sort of awe.
We just see you as we have seen,
we just see you how you have made
yourself belong: our point of view

you idolize yourself all wrong.

critical phase

we're at that most critical, dangerous phase
and if we get through this, we could be "home free"
and I mean, for years
and I mean - for life
I mean this could be home
for good, now - if we
can just get through this, here
it's the trickiest phase: the one
where we're both saying "Hey. What the fuck?"
"Is this person for real?"

it's a phase that could last
for as long as we do
if we don't get stuck

but we'll be set forever, if we
can get through

name turning

my favorite name is turning into yours.
I turn it in my mind
from front to back
and forth,
it runs along
without a trip,
but "trippingly" as they all say,
from off
the tongue,
I've oft repeated it - I find
myself so absent, mind
has made up little songs to fit
your name into, my tongue around,
a perfect fit! - I love the sound, the sense
I like the weight of it,
in consequence
when certain sentences
(with your name interposed)
gain greater depth and heft,
while those
of other sentiments
(with your name added in)
so lightly traipse, so graceful, deft,
more like a dance with turn and dips,
more like uplift than any rose
that ever was attached to name -
before I started putting yours
where it now lives, upon my lips

I must confess a secret blush
of secret shame,
a hidden bliss

a confidence,
a drawing close,
and then a hush:

a stolen kiss

your name is laid where it belongs, across my lips

"and I'll con you, can you con me"

I have never been fooling anyone
I can't even fool me.
But if I wanted to fool
anyone
of anything: I'd fool you
into seeing what I see,
for you,
in me
For us
to be - it takes two

to make future of fantasy

a bullet in a bucket of guns

I felt like a bullet in a bucket of guns
and someone's going to use me all up, at once

just once - my whole story, told
in one loud word.

I hope their hand is steady, and their aim
is erred

upon reflection

if the whole world were a mirror, and you were in front of it,
the whole world
would be precisely twice as beautiful
as this room is now

and infinitely more beautiful than it will be
when you leave.

PARTY NIGHTS

PARTY NIGHTS
PARTY NIGHTS
oh aw those PARTY NIGHTS

PARTY NIGHTS

PARTY NIGHTS! aw oh those PARTY NIGHTS

PARTY NIGHTS
can't beat those PARTY NIGHTS
have you seen those PARTY NIGHTS?

PARTY NIGHTS never go away
PARTY NIGHTS never stay, no never stay
never stay forever

never go away, my PARTY NIGHTS

PARTY NIGHTS

"Sacred Profane Love"

following stars led you here
reading the signs showed you me
your constellations spelled out my name
we don't know why
it's meant to be

my love for you is off the charts
I've worked so hard - you'd be amazed
followed your horoscope faithfully
and hung around
on five-star days

we can not escape from this
it's fate, or the lack thereof
you would not deny me us
my sacred and profane love
of you

deep in your heart you've always known
someone out there was meant for you
well I'm as far out there as you can get
but let me in
this love is true

well even when you were six years old
you always believed in destiny
you always believed in the handsome prince
well the slipper's here
and it fits me

we can not escape from this
it's fate, or the lack thereof
you would not deny me us
my sacred and profane love
of you

once we were blind
now we're in love
I can see clearly,
I've seen enough
I fell on my face from grace to sin
but you bought me back when you let me in, because
you are the one
I could be, too
I'd cleave unto thee
(long as it's you)
'til death do us part? not even then
would my soul let go
from my true best friend

I'd go through hell, bring you back
heaven as well, come to that
part all the waters and walk on seas
for forty days
on bended knees

'cause miracles fall from the sky
but somebody's got to throw them up
you came to me like an answered prayer
and I don't care
if it's just luck

we can not escape from this
it's fate, or the lack thereof
you would not deny me us
my sacred and profane love
of you

non ambiguous.

I've always been gay in the way I traipse,
straight in the way I shoot,
queer

in that strange-kilter way I have,
and heterosexual

in the way that it's pretty damn clear:
girls are just way more
cute.

"The ease with which"

The ease with which
you daunt my path
's so pervasive, I
have to laugh, because
I left you far behind,
and yet you're still- not merely,
on my mind, but here. - in front
of me. As bold as brass
and candle wax
and curlicue,
and I can see
how far you've come.

I'm proud of you.

coach my inevitable sniper

Man, I'm so thick-headed
my skull's got bullets embedded
couldn't get in past my thoughts
of you - I think hard - my scars are like,
leaded! I said you'll be heavy indebted
to the truths that you get from me, ruthlessly
which is true, and they will keep you
from delusion at least, 'til you disillusion me,
but you might have to punch that point through
with the steel-jacketed, armor-piercing rounds,
'round about when the thought finally comes down
"hey, this guy - he's " fill-in-the-blank with
whatever straw sucked the camel's tank dry
like a stolen milkshake. It's still
one shot one kill, just:
you have to use the serious ammunition
and while we're at it: keep your gun clean and oiled!
disassemble, wipe down, reassemble, know it well, tend it
with a loving hand, because when it's time for
steady,
ready,
trigger-pull
you don't want a jam

Papa Gotta Bag

Well, Santa Claus he came to town in that funky old pimped-up sled of his
being pulled by half a dozen skinny ol' cows, or something like this
I said "HEY, PAPA CHRISTMAS! What's in the bag?" he said "None o' yo biz!"
Cause you been bad! You been bad, bad bad
ho
ho
ho

That fat ol' man
well, he's got it all
he knows just what you've done
he knows your little weaknesses
knows all the things you want
but he just laughs, with all those goodies stuffed
in that big fat ol' bag of his
Cause you been bad! You been bad, bad bad
ho
ho
ho

What Will Become of Us? Poll.

What Will Become of Us?

o Slow creeping indifference, drifting apart into eventual entropy
o A coming together and renewed dedication to bonds of communion we'd somehow forsaken
o A colossal blowup, followed by bad feelings and quasi-legal reprisals
o A general malaise, followed by a less general malaise.
o The true meaning of Christmas!
o Some say a stranger came, dealing death before the end.
o The FALSE meaning of Christmas,
o Sitting swapping stories into our adorable dotages
o "Hey buddy. You know I love you right?"
o Other (please post specifics)

with no canteen

A freedom this size
it's a desert so bleak
you can't see its other side
can't be crossed in a week
no oasis in sight
not a feature to see
no, not even mirage
but it's good to be free

Well

Thank you

from the bottom of the well
I just fell into,
from strolling too sure
and not minding
my feet, from looking
too high up, from looking
too keen at the sun
of your warm fondness
in the blue of this brilliant day,
through my oh-so-ostensibly cool
shades, that you so relentlessly tint
with rose.

It's not a bad well,
it's a good well.
I'm doing well down here.

The fall was kind of nice.

clench, flutter,

Love
is what the heart has to pump
besides blood,

which hurts
so damn much when the last valve gives out,

because
heart couldn't care
if the blood doesn't flow - but cries agony
over

the love done without

Ill-Considered.

I want to get married in Las Vegas
on same-day notice
by a roman catholic bishop
who I saved from a mugging
to a girl who is exquisite
but she wasn't confirmed,
and so she consequently has to take a second middle name
at the altar where we'll turn
and face the celebrant and witness
as we falter through our vows
- I go with the written business,
but she's all "I made these up!
I put in a lot of thought!"
- the bishop's thinking "maybe I just shouldn't have ought,"
but our little farce unfolds as the Cathedral looks down,
we get through it all okay, and then
it's time to hit the town
and maybe gamble all our winnings
for the rest of our lives,

which is what all such beginnings do, I guess -

'til we die.

guilty flowers

the best is to leave bouquets of truth
bereft of exaggeration, really
and those blooms - none of them (botanically
speaking) are compliments, not a one! but
truth has color that is beautiful,
where truth has stolen its light
from you, the grey of your eyes
as they rise, "oh, really?"
Really: truth has color that is
beautiful, which was stolen, theft
at lightspeed, off of you (okay,
borrowed, generous as you are you
will not press a charge, you
wuss) and truth has also a clean
and a rich, cool, sweet scent
in comparison with which, your
"compliments," your parfumes, your
chemical artifices, and even your
natural flowers, to turn the metaphor
against itself invidiously! - all cannot
compare to your hair, with your face
buried in my shoulder as grace
sinks a fist in the pit of my stomach,
I gasp, grateful for the epiphany, with

the warmth of each of us spreading over

Hey -
do you know? I have never once had the chance
to compliment you. Derelict,
derelict of me.
Will you please,

with my apologies accept?

these

sex, casually

wait well what
exactly are we are you are we talking about
here though? can you be my backup fuck, and
we will have either/or gasms? We'd need
to work out a system
to alert the other
in the event one's hopes have died, or
any other opportune time, really, because
you only live once, and there's no shame
in dying a thousand times,

just a little

I say we "go for it" after all
it's just you and me and who is to
blame? who's to know, or who is to say
how it can feel so good and be so right
and wrong at the same time - these absolutes
are all gray areas. Speaking morally,
who cares? And which of us really
are we trying to convince, here
anyway? I thought it was me, right?
But it doesn't matter now, because regardless:
two consenting adults, hypothetically and
if that's the case, let's just come on,
be grown-up about this, clearly we both
or I know I do at least! And you, it certainly
goes without saying, or would have, or
it seemed like, I mean wow! You caught me
off-guard, I have to confess. I have to ask,

So

I would like to ask you flat out:
are you feeling like
I am? Which is - are you just about dying
to, are you

kind of trembling
at the moment? are you kind of nervous?
nauseous? sorry - I mean "nauseated" - is this
not the right time, do you have
headaches you'd have to ignore, or
heartaches whose only possible cure
lies elsewhere? Because, look
this is really serious, here, we,
a step like this
we can't or we shouldn't take or

do this

if the circumstance is wrong. Because this
sex that we are talking about here
it's important. It's a big deal, first and
foremost, us - well, we - we are friends. Aren't we?
We care about each other - sure, that
has to come first no matter what comes next,
if anyone. We matter to each other. Right?

I believe that's established fact.

So what you suddenly look like
naked isn't going to
isn't going to
isn't going
to

change

all that

sorry um

I got side-tracked

"Tumbledown"

really
you are
perfect
you are

perfect
really
I don't mean
"no scars"

I don't mean
no wrinkles
no foibles
no flaws

'cause all of
your aspects
contribute
to awe

you hold yourself above it all
I guess I do as well
you should come down, to take a stroll
stretch your legs a spell
you're beautiful on pedestal,
but better still on ground
you're out of reach -
I can't quite see you
tumbledown

tumbledown
I can't quite see you 
tumbledown
oh to be near you
tumbledown
what if we two
tumbledown
tumbledown
tumbledown 
oh you don't have to 
tumbledown,
but if you tumbledown, 
if you tumbledown
I will catch you

clearly
you've been
a godsend
to me

don't want to
critique you
or bite where
I feed

but total
immersion
the world can
be great

you ought to
dive into
it's almost
too late

from where you stand, above it all
the view is quite sublime
from where I stand, look up to you
well what could be more fine
You're beautiful - from tip to toe
we're earth and heaven-bound
the two could meet,
if only we could
tumbledown

tumbledown
a perfect day, too
tumbledown

tumbledown 
it's on our way, too
tumbledown 
tumbledown 
tumbledown
oh you don't have to
tumbledown,
but if you tumbledown,
if you tumbledown,
I will catch you

you're out of reach - but I need you
I guess that problem's mine.
but I suspect the air up there
is rather more thin than fine
you separate, for goodness sake
but good is to be found
when you dive in,
like everything, just
tumbledown

tumbledown
maybe we could
tumbledown

tumbledown
do us both good
tumbledown
tumbledown
tumbledown
oh you don't have to 
tumbledown
but if you tumbledown
if you tumbledown,
I will catch you.

"the other thoughts"

afraid as we are of the thoughts that we think
it's the thoughts we don't dare to let fly cross our minds
that will in the end, upend and upset our lives
and leave our selves scrambling, sharpening knives
and determining exits, and screaming for plans
demanding to know where life lies, in whose hands
and questioning how things could come to such pass:
it's the thoughts we don't dare that will free us,
at last

a passing lantern

The passing lantern leaves no light,
but eyes are windows to deep wells
where memory lives,
and passed lights dwell.
The moment you pass
will return us
to night.

There
is a light
that will never go out.
You lit it in every window in sight -
not a lamp in the window, just a glimpse,

a reflection of you.

The moment you pass
will return us to night.

I loved you as much as I could

I loved you as much as I could
I did
I loved you as much as I possibly could
I loved you much more than I could if I tried
and it felt like I didn't even try

but I would

have, if I'd known
you had needed so much more

a sunrise for idiots

it took a long time to get home
the other night. I was given
a ride, but it went the wrong
way, and I couldn't decide -

should I call up a cab? Or be
stubborn. And walk

Well, I guess you could say
that I made the right choice.
By the time I walked home,
I had made up my mind:
should have called for a cab.

But I won something more
something else, undefined
something true, in the light

of that new, broken day.

recurring presentiment

I don't know why I should die tonight
I can't see how it could benefit me
or anyone else, but I guess I might
if anything's possible, well,
we'll see

in the morning I'll wake to another day
which is usually good for a nice surprise
since I'm always expecting to die in my sleep
I suspect that I will, to the day
I die

a small, empty envelope

I just found a small, empty envelope that says
"I love you, joe"
in your handwriting. And it was torn
just a little, where I opened it

and I can't remember getting it
or what was inside. No stamp,
no address, it must have been left
on the dresser table

I saved it

who knows why