My night time self
hates
my morning self
it's clear as night and day
they never did get along.

My night time self
stays up too late
never sleeps
always thinking
drinking, plotting, planning,
worrying about morning self's mistakes
smoking a thousand cigarettes
one **** over the line
eating chocolate bars
at one a.m.

While my morning self
an early riser
is the one
that has to get up
go to work
always corrects
and
lectures
dedicated to maintaining the structure.

My night time self
only thinks about himself
uses
the last piece of wood
won't bother setting up
the coffee maker
he's so cruel
stares into t.v. space
muttering about love's
he's never had.

While my morning face
has to face
the clutter of night time
disgrace
bottles,
lights blasting
computers running
another ***** movie going
hello poetry splattered on the walls
and another alcohol poisoned
Jersey blonde
stretched out across
the bathroom floor
while morning self
has to shave
and doesn't know her name.

Night time self
finally sleeps
god rest his soul
about the time
morning self
from his dreams
has to rise
rudely awakened by talk radio.
Morning self has to go out and play
the straightened out games
while the residue
of night time insanity
lingers,
a film
covering morning self's
pretense at sanity.
Responsible
ethical
moral
always has to pay the bills
for you know who.

I once tried to get them together
a meeting of these two
but it quickly dissolved
into
a
shouting match
across the twilight dew
never could get them together
they were as different
as
me and me
and
you and you.

Through lines
attach themselves to me
I'm a zip line zipping through the canopy.
Zip lines
through lines
My life in dots and dashes.

There was that darkness
before I was born
don't remember much about that.

Parents were through lines
for a long while
then they died
grandparents before
they all had their time
through lines
zip lines
strings
the true string theory.

Homesickness, school, bullies, too
the Sunday Night Blues
riding those zip lines
through lines
what are you gonna do
they aren't leaving you.

*******
Resignation
private fantasies
too private to tell
through lines too
on  the old zip line.

The voices in your mind
that's been a through line
through and through.

Poverty that was true too
that's what happens when you
peak too soon
and
you're a late bloomer too.

Children, the through lines
children of children
and you too
through lines zipping through
along the old zip line.

Poetry, a through line
sharing secrets
sacred circles
those are through lines too.

Body parts
hearts, limbs, lungs, guts and toes
though those tonsils
had to go.
Every breath
Every heart beat.

My through lines
your through lines
we all got'em
parallel points on parallel lines
I can't say
I know we sometimes together zip
along that same highway
then one will fade
and one will go away.

But where we all meet
each day,
I can say,
in the molecules
of every breath we take.

For all the lady poets
whose songs are sung
who dance on fire
when the night comes
who are willing to
go to the heart of the matter,
whose desires erupt
behind the smile
who hold secrets
and shadows,
who can turn you
into slick wet stone
with one word,
one look
one touch
one tap on the shoulder.

Who hold you between
their finger tips
roll you into a
tightening knot of
desire and fear and apprehension
and
bring home your reality
far too clear.

For all the lady poets
who know you too well
who know that shell
who can crack you
in a moment
and never look back
or
love you into life
or
leave you child like
stammering and wondering.

For all the lady poets
who love you too well
who are with you
for the moment,
know your
heaven and hell
and
open their words on these pages
a sweet treat
a sweet longing
a sweet surrender
the lady poets
can spin you
twist you
and
put you back on top.

The lady poets
hold the keys
have the words,
vast universes inside,
hold on
it's an exquisite ride
better buckle up
hunker down
hold on tight
without the lady poets
I'd never make it through the night.