If I could convince you of one thing,
I would convince you that you are worth it.
These arms are much to short and far too weak
to rip through the curtain of time,
but if I could convince you,
I would brush hours with my fingertips
and leave palm prints engraved on the days you didn't feel loved.
Reaching back, up to my elbows in  pools of your story,
sifting through the silt built up at the bottom,
twisting knobs and turning dials
until every time you heard his voice or her voice say
'you will never amount to anything'
instead played back
'you will never stop amounting.'
Spry young saplings, planted at the river's edge,
you will never stop growing.
You will always find strength when you lift your branches to the sky,
be it deep in your roots,
you will stand taller than northern pines,
taller than sycamores that split clouds with their leaves.
Believe me now more than your memories,
you will do so much more than survive.
I would spill this pain I see melted in your eyes.
With all of the righteous fury a sinner can muster,
I would destroy those times you were told
that it's never ok to cry,
that you must live like prisoners inside your own bodies
with emotions covering up the windows more and more each day.
If I could convince you,
I would swallow every steel bar you've ever known,
Giving you back your mother,
Giving you back your father.
I would fill myself with cages
if you would know that you are free.
You are free to live life as you have seen it in the trees.
Stand tall, and drink from the rivers of love
so few are willing to share with you.
In turn, share your rivers with those who also believe.
I would not erase the pain you have suffered,
for I would not dare touch your strength.
I would ask, that when you feel the wind,
like the breath of God, stirring through the trees,
that you would stretch out your branches and weep.
Water the ground that has brought you so far,
embracing every waking moment
that you might never again live in dreams.
If I could convince you of one thing,
Change your mind about time,
showing you that you are both past and present
staring boldly into the future,
I would convince you that you are worth it.
Whatever "it" you could imagine "it" to be,
Know that it will never measure up to your leaves.

It's a shame being
sensitive.
               wouldn't it be easier to
                 just be like everyone you
                 consider trapped between
                  their teenage years?

                no no NO
                no NO
                NO no !

                no thank
                you, where
                I think is
                far from
                perfect but
                it's mine.

You left your hair in the sink
I kept it there as a reminder
we were growing old,
that things fall out of place
and take awhile to rebirth themselves

You left your scent lingering
between my sheets
the familiar mixture of body heat, sly smiles
I left it there as a reminder
of our conversations,
the ones where our paper hearts
wrote tin can telephone conversations
through our arteries

You left every single ******* sock of yours
on the floor
tossed aside,
claiming they trapped too many feelings
inside them at night

Sleeping with feelings wedged between your toes
is the equivalent to walking between whispers

It never works.

You left your skin on the kitchen counter
between the sink and the stove
a reminder that we are always shedding the excess
that in six months we are sombody new,
something our body
doesn't quite feel comfortable yet

You left too many notes for me to find.
hidden in the crevices of drawers
under the matress
stitched inbetween pillow case threads
even inside the broken toaster
a reminder that anything can catch a flame

You left a lot of things in Oregon,
but you didn't leave your heart.

You took that with you.

My third arm
An acoustic guitar
Painting an audible mural
Brushed my fingers
That bleed passion
And feed the heart
No need for eyes
And none for words
We'll share it all
Through vibrations
Which mend the hurt
Channeled through shaped mahogany
And tightly wound copper
Our soul soliloquies
Poems at eighty decibels

orange like beeeee
careful beeeeee
cautious beeeeeee
irrationally aware
of the world around you

red like tooooo
night toooooo
stop tooooooo
hesitant when the moment
calls for action

blue like weeeee
were weeeeee
aren't weeeeeee
are drowning
in oceanic air

Run River Run
for your life
for ours
for farmers' daughters
for future sailors
for explorers
for the dead
for valleys
for power
for stories and lies
for nakedness
Run River Run
for your life
for ours
for history
for health
for the money
for the living
for fish
for fires
for ears and eyes
for necessity
Run River Run
for your life
for ours
Run from your mother and never go home.
Run and keep the wind company.
Run River Run
with your pockets full of gold
for your life
for ours

Sometimes words sit screaming inside a chasm
asking, “where are you”,
like a nightmare intimately breezes
from a cage fashioned for anyone
it recognizes first.

On the coldest of nights you can see their pain
in lines that make you close your eyes
for reasons
that you may not want to know.

Running takes you nowhere
when words scream out “I want you”
then entwine themselves
around the flesh
of your pen.

This september sky
does not have kind eyes
They stare at women's tongues
and never blink

September's thin blue arms
smeared with white angel's guts
reach into mens lungs with
mouthfuls of oxygen lust

If they beheld her whole form
they would turn mute and celibate
forever.