Not A Night To Be Daring

And so we pass
Into the next, and
I'd wish you
Nothing less than
Happiness
If it weren't for
The dreams
And the marks
On my chest.

So I'll stay dry
For the first time
In decades,
And instead
Of looking forward
I'll strain my neck
To look back,
While I bury
My still swollen
Hands in the snow.

To Some Future Lover

If you stay
I'll plant a garden in the yard
With raspberries, strawberries,
And fresh green lettuce.

And if you'd like
I'll sing to you awhile
In the quiet of
The evening,
When nothing's
On our minds.

At Least It Was Exciting

This voice is weak
And withered in warm
Dark places that silence
Makes and boredom despairs.

Love is in the worst
Parts that fire gives
And passion takes without
Another needless name.

Nothing is ever as small
As it seems in words
Of discomfort or terrible
Screams of loneliness bared.

So give the floor your
Knees like its begged for
With pleas of love through
Violent and passionate greed.

This Never Happened

I was making speeches telling lies
In a faithless forward fashion,
Underneath us there some sacred spy,
Making love and giving lessons.

Soon enough I think I will advise
In a dark room long and lonely,
All the time we take to realize
Is a red and righteous ending.

But I can tell.
I know you well.
My hands are numb.
From what we've done.
Bury it.

Bone of heart and heart of sinking steel
With a love that shaped our bruises.
I have stretched the silence thin as wire,
What is lost is never useless.

But they can tell.
They know too well.
We're all so wrong.
But now it's done.
Bury it.

Weaving The Air

Sorely my love
How sorely we stretch
For things unattainable,
The chance to put hands
On father's wounded neck.
Our bodies so naturally
Carving the weight
And speaking with symbols
Our child-like fate.

Now the unborn
Have something to live for,
While all of the living
Contract and debate.
Our colorful silence
Is weaving the air
With father's bright violence
And mother's long hair

Split Thin The Line

In the car on Lake Drive
And in this bed,
Steady hand
And head against the glass
Hearing the sap-drained
Soul of your voice
In the air.
Your hand still stinging
But barely aware,
We almost said it
We almost split thin
The line, with our tongues
Still dragging
And begging for life.