Come and learn to dance with the clubfoot children,
the lame and the deafened who hear not our beat.
Come on! follow their steps, fractured, untimely
and see where they take us on our broken feet –
for we too are fragile, distorted, un-mended;
we too live life with offence, are offended
and struggle with dancing while missing the beat.

Listen for their song beneath the cacophony
loud and un-metred, assaulting our ears.
Hear in their song the snippets of clarity
telling us how it is they fight their fears.
Improvise counter-point, fit to their melodies
affirm what they sing with our fractured harmonies
and struggle to sing though it bring us to tears.

Look on their visions of horror and cruelty:
swallow the ***** that threatens to choke.
Glimpse now the messages in the *******:
recognise what they are asking is hope.
Then in the vision, the dance and the song
reach for their hand and help them belong
and though then both hurting: together we’ll cope.

Before guns wore make-up,
We used to put pennies in our socks
So we’d always walk on the root of all evil.

Now Wall Street angels frolic through satellite clouds borrowed
from youths educated by universities of smoke and plastic bags.
                  
(The tears of a child are homage to the waning gods)
For in a day not far away,
Over the painted moon of the Morning Son,
The sun will rise wearing the finest war scars money can buy.

And the screams of humanity will be heard from Venus,
Forgetting that the reciprocal of   L-I-V-E   itself  is     E-V-I-L
And perhaps death is the life meant to be lived.

you don't have to do nothin
but the things you do
to make yourself beautiful
i appreciate that too

i like when your eyes are brown
i like when your eyes are hazel
i like when your hair is short
i like when your hair is braided
i like your smile, it's radiant

i like when you talk about the memory
of meeting me
and what it means
and everything that gleams
and glistens in your eyes
in the twilight of the night

i like seeing your name on my phone
i never knew that a name could make me feel a certain way
a string of text
a collection of letters
that cut deep to my heart
and open up my stomach
like peeling an apple
or an orange
a delicious fruit
you're so sweet

the things you say
really get me
like
they really shake me
and cut me to my knees
you're the best disease
the best emotional illness
the best sickness
a weak stomach

you're the tear coming down my face
and it was all worth it
and i want you to know
you're so worth it

the pain i feel
and the heartache
will never replace
how i really feel for you
and the things you do
you're just you

i don't want you to be anyone else
or change who you are
come take a ride in my car
let's talk til after dark
and wake up in the morning
man, that's the best part

to open my eyes
and instead of you being a dream
you're laying right next to me
in bed with me

a kiss on the cheek
and a soft good morning
let me cater to you
i want you to feel comfortable in my home
because you have my heart

now we are here
and the end is not near
nowhere in sight
and i hope i never see it
you're going to last forever
i hope i see you in my dreams
and awake with you from my sleep

I find the idea of you quite ticklish
like woolen mittens, itchy wrists
a poke, a ****
a reminder tireless.

I find simplicity to be at fault
for fiddling fantasies, like bad dreams
dizzy and liquified
not so, as it seems.

And through months of fleshly illness, in denial of feminine prowess,
I was held under a rock
by a love so callused:

I was smitten in the smog of your smile.