"Gone away to
dream forgotten places up, rising
like a helium balloon in the lilac
sky, really"

"I intend to return soon, but who can
tell where the horizon will let
down, in which direction life's
tides might drift"

(that when you next scratch your
back I should appear an instant
later in dismay, a
bit too late to feel your skin
warm my fingertips on this
cold autumn afternoon)

So blind we cannot touch

We are what we love and not what
loves us
             balance in creativity
unchecked, if we stay scared, we
   cannot progress, see

I AM NOT INCOMPLETE, I am

a full picture in
myself that loves and chooses to
love another pigment, a specific
style of painting out a life, so

there is no "completing the
puzzle", only expanding our
beautiful view like a new
universe of stars winking with
open hearts

to hear the music singing, an unfiltered
hum in my ears always

and want nothing else.

Do you know the bird?

Of course not. each
   updraft a soaring appreciation for
worldly things, textbook happiness
drowning distraction in a pond plump with water
lilies and tadpoles, sinking down to the
       dirt, belly raw on dizzy ground, feet
scrabbling for a safe touchdown, sure this day there
must be a rock or a tree trunk, some natural end to the in-
between where a bitter desperate aftertaste singes the mouth, certain
   nothing else will be known, that this sour tang is only to
remain on this tongue forever, no

asking you if you can relate is like expecting the sun to
rain down and openly weep itself out, quite
   impossible, come on - remember, you
must see clearly - here

comes the lift again, fondest flying above, fully
forgotten panic until winds falter once more

I know the bird.

Old cars and older voices, time
begins anew (with awake) in
the afternoon, chords and
bronze-coated companionship, long-
dead limbs singing, with

not walking but
floating as a mantra in the
dark, wanderer of these
expectant streets disheartened
by the home scoreboard

Insistent upon raised
hands, smoky glasses, drizzled
shards of affection every
now and again when it's
convenient to pipe in the
clean stuff from upstairs

is it diffi-
cult for the benefit of a
nonmaterial bruising, all
greens and gray-colored finger-
tips from a waiting man, you
"never jump where the
bottom rises to meet you", never
drink a road down before you
guess its name to be

satisfied is an abomi-
nation without progressi-
on the path to stagnant waters where
only the living float, belly-
up like dollar bills