Style--go ahead talking about style.
You can tell where a man gets his style just
     as you can tell where Pavlowa got her legs
     or Ty Cobb his batting eye.

     Go on talking.
Only don't take my style away.
          It's my face.
          Maybe no good
               but anyway, my face.
I talk with it, I sing with it, I see, taste and feel with it,
     I know why I want to keep it.

**** my style
               and you break Pavlowa's legs,
               and you blind Ty Cobb's batting eye.

Lilted notes upon rising tides
Drums of crashing waters shore
Water rippling and ocean sighs
A crescendo of a tempests roar

The screech of gulls taking flight
Melodious wind in water caves
Marvel here at the ocean's might
With the orchestra of the waves

See here the figures, singing loud
Harmony salty, sweet, and strong
Ocean creatures awed and cowed
At the hurricane of the siren's song

You are the truest part of me
When I close my eyes, it is not to sleep,
But to fade into a place where holding onto you keeps me sane and safe.
It is often called reality.
And any place where our love is stopped from flourishing
Is nothing more than an ill conceived nightmare.

I still have faith I'll wake up to a bouquet of your kisses, sweeter than any rose could hope to be.

Your love feels like teeth
Like tight hugs
Squeezed ribs
Like a heavy chain around my neck

You unhook my spine
And undo my hips
Unseat my shoulder bones
And realign my lips

Your love is a possessive grip
Purple skin
Falling stars, droopy eyes
A stomach full of butterflies

Visceral love, living death,
in vain, I wait your written word,
and consider, with the flower that withers,
I wish to lose you, if I have to live without self.

The air is undying: the inert rock
neither knows shadow, nor evades it.
And the heart, inside, has no use
for the honeyed frost the moon pours.

But I endured you: ripped open my veins,
a tiger, a dove, over your waist,
in a duel of teeth and lilies.

So fill my madness with speech,
or let me live in my calm
night of the soul, darkened forever.

I don't quite know you,
But somehow
You have managed to
Awaken a sunrise
In my heart
&
I am gloriously
Basking in these
Rays you seem to
Infinitely produce

she calls me
she calls me & I don't answer
she calls to say her grandma
is failing fast & the twins
aren't sleeping & they're angry

come on over I say
I only have two calloused hands
& a sixty hour work week
bony feet & a bottle of
chocolate wine & I ask if she's ever
slept four on a full sized mattress

the boys will be fine I say
bring both elmos
a set of pastel paints
& you can run your fuzzy-sock feet
up my legs & warm your small hands
on my space heater heartbeat

grandma will see good Friday
& easter sunday I say
& probably even her own
late April birthday
barely audible as the boys snore
like miniature sawmills
through peppermint toothpaste
ringed open mouths

the last thing I feel before sleep
is her smile stretching across my
bare chest & her hands catch fire
& wander toward a cooler spot of skin

Oh, I could let the world go by,
Its loud new wonders and its wars,
But how will I give up the sky
When winter dusk is set with stars?

And I could let the cities go,
Their changing customs and their creeds, —
But oh, the summer rains that blow
In silver on the jewel-weeds!