The SIlence In Between.

In the evenings, when the sky has lowered her lids and the waning hours seems conspiratory- we must find new languages. I must see you dance to the rhythm- because that is the voice I understand. When I tell you that You sucked all the vulnerability out from the moment, what I meant to say is suddenly the chasm had swallowed me whole- and I need to hear the pin drop.
In the sappy mornings- when we are stuck to one another, when you are crusted to the sheets- I must run around frenetically and sparkle the exterior because I am failing to clean my interiors.
Find that new language with me. Always write on the walls and look me in the eyes that lie between the lines.

Brick By Brick....

You keep secrets,

as some keep bees-

with a padded suit,

so dangerously.

You put honey

on my cracked jaw;

You spread butter,

on all my flaws.

We have a new little life,

on the top floor.

we watch commuters

watch their watches,

we watch the sun

bow it's head into

the east river-

we wonder what

took us so god damned long.

Love reaches the ceilings higher,

Love sinks the walls in,

Love heats every corner,

Love stacks every brick,

Love is slowly closing in.

ANY OTHER WAY.

it's the death rattle of summer,

the wind pushes your fingers to flight-

drawing lines in the sand,

driving up the long line,

that riddles up the palm of my hand.

I watch you have your way with it.

The only way,

you would have it.

It's the last breath of a cool evening,

the roof tops and sky lines,

grieving-

I watch you:

sit in the same dark room,

black with tar,

black with teeth,

blacker than underneath.

I watch you have your way with it.

long as the night,

long as the day,

that you wouldn't have any other way.

BLINK AND YOU MIGHT MISS IT.

Just as I was falling asleep last night, I was reciting our small love affair, so quick, we blinked, and missed it.

remember the oranges, the smell that filled that rented apartment. I stood on the skateboard and you steadied me, we didn't have a lease- but we had our favorite beatle, we undressed in the afternoon, we made black pearls and we walked away.

and we both know silently,

it's better this way.

Like Your City.

You're like London itself-
Spread like spilled milk,
Expensive like dry cleaning,
traditional as tea-
Too long to get across
Too seen,
Too ancient in it's soul
Too royal to say no.

Yes, i knew you while I was in London,
As you are the city itself.

THE 2 HANDS OF HEAVEN.

I'll never be 24 again,

I bow my head.

(Christ, have mercy.)

I'll never again,

know your wordless hands,

or the way we speak fire when

they simply pass along me.

(In the name of salvation, we pray.)

I'll never set foot again,

over the thin graves,

of your thick powers-

alone in this hour.

(Thank be the Lord.)

I'll never again find our eyes;

dancing along the East River,

tripping along the subway stairs,

collapsing into bed fully clothed.

(Blessed be God for ever.)

It takes time.

It takes time.

It takes the time,

the time I can't spare-

for a little prayer.

We lift our broken hearts to the heavens-

(We lift them up.)

OUR OTHER HEMISPHERES.

if I could dust the salt

right off your lips,

i would, just watch me.

If I could poison

your exact location,

it would be

my favorite vacation.

If I could reach right through

your living room,

slide against you,

close enough to measure,

it would be our pleasure.

If I had a way out,

if I had the sand,

to find the phantoms

of your hands.

we would have a word for free,

and it would be chemistry.

if i could

i would-

if we could

we almost certainly would.

pity for us,

the heavens have conspired.

the stars laugh to tears,

at our other hemispheres.

(and when you say 'wait',

you mean 'come now'-

when I say 'meet me here'

I mean 'show me how.')

A DIFFERENT STORY.

If you were just- A mere partner;

If you were just- A boy raised on a farm;

If you were just- All poor eyesight and extravagent limbs;

If you were just; Lips like the earth's crust, A voice like chruch bells: This would be a different story. If you were just: A man I knew Who knew me too; You would be anything but everything. And this would be a different story. Because you are not just: You are scissored silence You are dropped knees You are the soft sting Gathered by honey bees. You are wild as you are caged, You are trembling as you are braved- You are right to be wrong You were wrong all along. I cup my two hands across the Atlantic- I cup them tightly over your ears, I mouth the wicked words- That you refuse to hear. If you were just: A handshake to release

If you were just: A little less a peice of me

If you were just: A fire to smother

If you were just: Someone other-

Then what you are

and what you aren't- This would be A different story.

DUMBFUCK.

How I wish,
Our history was written
In invisible ink.
But our bones are set,
In the stones of unstanding homes.

Bibles have pages
Thinner than our stories.

Our ideas are infants
Begging to be fed.

The secrets I keep, a swarm
Of the saddest bees.

The color of collision,
Told by my favored language:
Revision.

When you have given me ample warning-
When you draw me out,
You draw a map of my armistice-
Wrap me dear in your arms;
Like the woman that I am,
Like the dumb fuck that I am,
Like the child I forgot
only to find
In the small blanket of your love.

When you find me there;
Cold, scared: shivering by the autumn wind,
My mother shakes a stiff finger,
Your father passes a barrier reef,
And we become everything we hoped we'd never be.

The Accidental Conversation.

We collect eggs,

to watch them hatch outside

of the basket.

We watch clocks,

and wonder what it is,

that we don't want.

We let the slipperiness of spring,

get into us

and out of us---

All over us

and somehow,

away from us.

It's as natural as

the shadow over the moon-

It's as natural as

passing of noon-

It's as natural

as negotiating a release-

It's as natural

as forging a lease.

it's as unnatural as wanting to turn off,

by being turned on.

Your nature,

is your nature,

and my nature,

is my nature-

and the silence,

is now,

an answer.

There were 3 words;

the way we were,

and the way,

we wanted to see ourselves.

LENGTH, WIDTH AND DEPTH

We were just kids,

but we had souls like fistfights.

We slept cold on the concrete,

we kept gold in the wisdom of our teeth.

Everything in the world was perfect.

Wounded,

we would often answer-

"I've seen better days."

Somehow we knew,

among the ministry of our length:

our tiny world was perfect.

You had a tone in your voice,

that owned the authority,

of a poet or a preacher.

We were nothings and everythings,

We would elevate every mineral,

into the diamonds of distance.

In the myth of width,

before we knew maturity and death,

every dimension was perfect.

We drove long sleepless freeways,

to crash in heaven's hands.

We sat on the swinging bench,

in the convent,

and negotiated the authenticity,

and beauty of black roses.

We sat and watched wordless.

We documented every moment,

Through the lens of a looking glass,

while talking trash.

With the weight of tragic gravity,

I found your depth,

another language of perfection.

You and your long in tooth,

You and your whiplash smile,

You and your holy spirit

the "thing" that doesn't have a name, only a number.

Perhaps God is a mathematician, how He equated me to you; and the way you would tell your folks you were going to church, when you would visit me on Sundays.

NATURAL DISASTERS.

My words are boomerangs,

returning to conveniently,

slap me in the face.

I meant it when I said it,

but now I mean,

something else.

Your words are little tornados,

windswept and born-

of innuendos.

The fire is white,

Bloody as stars,

Colorless as light.

I wish I had a home movie,

Of our first 2 weeks-

I'd study us in slow motion:

The childish hands,

The pale kisses,

The black outs,

The new day champagne,

The tub in the living room,

when all we had was eternity,

trembling with infancy.

FINDNG OURSELVES.

the aloneness has a color

something blurred by memory,

something like a stranger's face.

you've got all the answers

when questions are as indiscernible

as passing clouds.

I know that you

can feel lonesome

even in a crowd.

I remember you the way

that a man wants to be remembered-

no arcs or frames

just waves of precious metal

a Mercedes with a moon roof wide open-

stars that were never really

our friends, anyhow.

Somehow you have a language with the beach,

the way kings have coins for eyes.

When I remember you,

I remember finding ourselves

alone in a room.

I remember finding ourselves

at extraordinary distances.

I remember finding ourselves

deep, in trouble.

I remember finding ourselves.

Dont Take It Personally.

somehow,

it's always

just more

about me.

THE VIEW FROM YOUR BEDROOM.

you have eyes like a light house.

a life of canaries,

in full song,

a garden in quiet bloom,

a library that cracks spines,

in the living room.

you somehow have a shimmer,

like even in the winter,

you live by the summer.

CALIFORNIA MAKES ME FOGGY FROM THE INSIDE.