I can't understand the world from your eyes;
you see the relentless opportunity in everything -
(even within me) -
Wasting nothing as a chance to explore.
Loving what you love and leaving whatever
you don't.
Sitting pretty while Daddy drafts
dumb poems.

Every little object may as well be
the Big Bang; a story as old
as a lifeline -
(you were mine.)

You could care less about the classics.
Life can be simpler than
everything Elton John wrote about
in the 70s -
(I can't wait to show you.)

One day you'll see much more of the world.
You'll love who you love
and love whoever you don't -

but shouldn't we all get to be
that way at least once?

What more can I say about the moon?
Silvering light, carried 'cross the nighttime.

Waking up this Thursday morning blue.
Laid right in your breathline.
Born right at the right time.

We changed a lot of things around the house,
And kept some of what probably should have gone out as well.
But I chalk that up to never looking back,
and never locking the door latch,
and never painting the windows black.

And I see myself inside your evening dream,
Seven horses, a castle, a stone wall, and a beauty queen.
And the birds cascade down from the cloud parade,
The sun fights for a new way,
a sky knocking on the bedroom shade.

Home, 2002.
That made me 10.
Watermelon going off,
back of the fridge drawer.
Salt the boiling water.
Pasta and egg again.
Save travel for travel,
we don't go far from
the dinner plates we know.
Something Bourdain says
on the TV (which shouldn't be on)
invites me in to a street miracle
(which shouldn't be real.)
Would Jesus really die for a taco?

All of this war for
a curling acre of skin
pushing against
the door of the night.

You knock
at my heaving chest.
I offer to refuse,
but we dance along anyway.  

The rest of the work
is *******.

Some have hands
for creases, others
hold hands better for boxing.

I am from a land
of talk; a land
of double-tap-for-a-like
religion.

Here, the wind
carries our spines for us.  

Here, we don’t eat
anything straight
from the bowl.

I named my horse Goldie
for no other reason except
that it seemed true to her.  
She wanted to show courage
and join the fight.
I told her that having courage is sometimes sitting
on the sidelines;
polishing our fists,
waiting to walk away.

I told her I just want to find what
this earth has to offer
and then walk myself home.

There's a rake in my mind
Raisin’ stakes in the rain
Horses have all shaken off for a day

no God but God
Heavy on the tap water
Pulling petrol from my teeth

Flower in a flower
Bust of Keats in the toilet aisle
Cheek to cheek with everyone busting

Some guy called poetry pretty bad
Not just mine
The whole cannon

Wait till he sees paint
On canvas

This is
what magic tastes like
when it hits fresh water.