snowfall renews my hope, so i believe in Nature more than Man

a single stripe of turquoise might,
maybe, change the way we see the world.

a few falling crystals (God, how she missed her)
do.

and here i am, huddled in my sweater
bleeding
waiting
but i know, i know
i know i know i know i want to
i want to.

so if we can look to the mountains,
play a sweet song
(rip off noah word for word,
and pretend it isn't wrong)
find the best of things
wish for love and wings
(and rip off kyle swartzwelder
anytime he sings.)


... i didn't finish this one.

without his glasses

i.
pretty blond woman with
towering shoes like
towering buildings
that eat her up
(and spit her out)
and she makes the end of each day
pretty and blond, still
but one more might be too much

ii.
she walks away from franklin's park
where at night, just heels
and the morning smog wraps wreaths of
desperation around the winding lines of the homeless
cold, bundled, hungry

iii.
but the stone arches
and the pedestals (both stone and air)
shine in the momentary sunlight
and it reflects off the gold curve of the roof
to remind us all of this
once
great
nation
and then this is where the inaugural speech will be:

iv.
mr. obama, president sir
play a song for me.

v.
we can talk
as we walk
all we want
as we wait,
running late
running not-at-all
running through the mall.

vi.
shadows of streetlamps
though it's bright day
the right is white
the unspoken say
but the masses, the masses
come out to play.

vii.
future ruins.
shakespeare or angry,
we can never win, because just going home
and i saw it again
she fell out of the building, cursing from the church
picking through the trash
hoping for the worst.

viii.
we can preserve the magna carta
it can make girls like me cry
but we can't save this city
if there's nothing left but pity
and nobody will tell me why.

ix.
(but i miss you too damn much
to do anything but sigh.)

x.
we can go back, someday, maybe
to stare at underappreciated art
and throw coins at the men throwing their life away,
catch that
and give it back.

ice

pink ribbon and surprised grins
we win!

goodbyes and new lives
we lie!

waiting for Godot and I haven't met him yet
memorizing Thoreau and playing hard to get
we had an odd sort of ambiance in the
coffee-scented air
and this is where, where
we said our prayers.

i still wish you'd tell me everything
i wish you could understand
i want the world for you and her
i want you to find a plan
i hope you can continue on the path to perfection

well-coiffed is only part of it.

little black boxes hold forethought
which, for once, i have; take this of me.

burning bridges

so you finally saw
the intensity and awe
in her worn-out, broke-down, fall-out world
she's that kind of girl.

since i'm in a melancholy mood
i'll admit this was not as soon
as i expected,
because i know what she's projected
and i know who her "real friends" are

and yet
and yet
her face will be wet
when the fire she's started
and the seas she has parted
crash and burn
crash and burn
but she still won't learn.

i found this scrawled on proof

the pale yellow bag of
California almonds blends
with the desk nobody's
graffitied yet.
his cowboy boots creak
in harmony with the
blond wood chair
and we stare
blindly
ahead
forward
on.

contact

a careful hug
a small pat
a full embrace
is a moment removed
from this goddamn race.

for the record

i'll never lie to you
think it over
cus i love you
and the caliber (42,
or desperate moves)
and you said
you understand!
you've bled and you've ran
and you said that you can
stand
by me, lean on me
and i am sorry
that you were lonely for a lifetime,
but when it's the right time
don't you believe
you can lean on me.