the pony(tail) express

got a single stamp relationship with the

U.S

postal service

this van aint no Ted Bundy

but he plays the part too well

--messenger charm like a snake

without delivering any of the hiss(teria)

unfamiliar banter

about unopened

mail

do you time stops

with my walks

or is my

Freudian slipped bioclock

permitting these

(talks?)

"Jesus could not be found"

The harrowing hop[e of home-o-sta-sis

has enveloped every electron of my ephemeral entity

laughing longingly for the love of life

while these lies lack lights and literal lessons

it is not innately inconceivable to imagine isolation

such sorry slander of summer stars

though time tricks travelers and tickles toes

her happiest haunts are hidden highs

each end an elephant of exclamatory excess

an apple ate, wise advice always abides

beacons bright the blue bird's brides

sickly soil spills spots on stained shirts

envelopes eels till every ember escapes

no noise nor naught knows nothing of night

crack children crash cymbals

except when each expression is an empire of etc.

on owls of order or quick fix obtained

free falling is the foe of fantasy's fickle fate

Gracious gratuity gains global the gates of grains

Our opposites of omens are obstacles ordained

Divine destiny decides that death is no en(d)

and L]o]v]e will prevail

within

the pretend.

we will clench our own fists, hand in hand.

Do not be afraid. I love you always. All. Ways.

We are growing into change and this is good,

for it is slowly proving that which we

have always thought we know:

that

Love is a dynamic

too dynamic

to be contained.

You still know me.

I still desire to be known.

And I love you enough to hold your hand

while you clench your own fist

on the paradigm of yesterday's

tomorrows

(how much we think we knew)

But this I can promise. You-- you will never be a need.

I love you more than needs, my illustrious friend.

Infinitely more than needs.

I dont need your hall pass

my quiet pension
was the terror of unspoken abandon.

It was immediate disconnect
avoided for dialtone upon dialtone
of one-sided solliloquy
as
if
it
were
important
to
suddenly
speak
lives
that
have
always
gone
unsaid

rebuilt walls of concrete
to protect this village heart
against your
non-verbal assails
(whether real or not)

that seemed to come from
nowhere but the essence
of nothing (in common) itself

grabbed skin for comfort
exchanged contact for connection
in hopes that your fattened fingers
could reassure me
that you are still a part
of my largest reality

pleas for assurance morphed to
requests for permission
like a seccond grade potty-dancer
with hall-pass-greedy eyes
mind reeling for relief!


But oh yeah.
I'm in college now.
We don't use hall passes here.
We do what we want when it is best
because maybe-- just maybe--
we actually kind of know.

I hope you can forgive me
for being such a dependent baby.

I don't need your hall pass,
I go when I want without all that
"precious may I"
nonsense

(but I always wash my hands--
because thats what you taught me

and I know the dangers of

c-o-n-t-a-m-i-n-a-t-i-o-n)

the mutual conclussion of un-needing

All I need is truth.

You are not truth, but I see truth in you
like a window pa(i)n(e) frames

the drops of water reflecting
roses in the garden of

all that is good
of all that is

worthy of sunlit
attention

like a red wagon
derby race

down the sloped streets of

childhood

where I once
held the handle

in charge of the wheels
that directed my path

across neighborhood obstacles
of lemon (aid) stands

and joggers
those laugh-barking pups

till mothers called dinner
and darkness

bid sleep
for an eternity of

dreamfilled night
when I would pray

out my window
towards the clouds that

form rain
caught in between

the desire to spin wheels
faster and

the hope of serenity
in the shape of

a streaking water droplet
blazing a trail

that would soon fall
as the truth of water

to form a puddle of reflection--
a two-way mirror

of God's love my truth;

that everything I need

comes from above.

Ode to Peace, My Perfect Timing Cat

Peace weaved furry figure

8's

through my ankles

reminding me that growth is an i n f i n i t e

process

of learning how to love

without the need of

you (s)

His fur passed through my outstretched

f|i|n|g|e|r|s

on never-again days

of forward trudging regression

with hopes of a future that is soft

I've scratched contentment

from nudging ears

held life's milk from

a backward source

that was oddly

un- ironic

Peace watched as I

grew from

the comfort of wants

to the joy of

I (have)

and found beauty in between

the broken skies

but today on whims of weather

you slept death in higher grass

and when i petpokedloved you

your tabby world heart was gone

but as your 4th life turned 9 times

you let my heart move on

(hope we meet again)

ill see you t(here)

so long

sloppi(forgive)ness

you are giddily regretful

(or maybe regretfully giddy?)

but its all the same

because you don't know up from down

(sit still, more water, mouth shut, smirk off)

inhibitions go down

character revealed

I could never judge you

(but this isn't you, is it?)

a liquified shadow

of someone I respect.

and maybe tomorrow

you can say you care

without it sounding

h o l l o w

don't worry friend,

we all make these choices

this isn't your forever

(and you are not your yesterday)

My Lost Youth

"Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the ships,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the sea-fight far away,
How it thundered o'er the tide!
And the dead captains, as they lay
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay
Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering's Woods;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

scraps of what could be (life)

Allow me to scrapbook your life.

I'll cut out some unflattering pictures

of relatives you no longer recollect

drinking cheap beer on the 4th

and ladle rubber cement onto the backs

so that they remain fixed in your un-memory

for(until the next fire/tornado/flood) ever.

After the blurred frames are set

I'll concoct an endless list of obvious captions

and print them on construction paper so

they can be chopped with zig-zag "Skizzorz"©

to en-hance the theme of family fun.

Last but not least I'll raid your child's

sticker collection and scour through the

endless drawers of buttons-pins-sparkles-

clips-decals for the perfect accents to accompany

your ideas of nostalgia and embellish what

was probably

an average life.

I'll gladly do it for free--

I really enjoy (smelling fumes getting papercuts

re-arranging rhinestones) getting to know people

better (living vicariously through you)

Oh don't mention it. It was my (only)

pleasure.

impulsively short.

I'm a slave to the whims of my flights of fancy

although I'm sure you can agree

its nec-ess-ar-y

just make sure to catch the angles

of all that I can't see (©)

cut off the wrongs

hack the mistakes

chop the regrets

buzz the shame

shear the guilt

trim the hate

might not be a fix

this faux-hawk for chicks

but it sure saves (me) sleep

product/time

{from}

(the paradigm of "keep")

shawn-lib!

I wore a _________ shirt today.

(name of favorite arachnid super hero)

I think some of his ___________ rubbed off on me

(adjective ending in "ness")

because I have felt very uncomfortable with ____________

(adjective ending in "cy" used to describe a swamp)

ever since.

So I've been listening to Lady ______

(Accompanies "goo-goo" when talking to a baby)

and walking around _________

(place)

with no_______

(un-living appendage that sits on top of head)

and its a little _____

(food, or, when spelled differently, a temperature that is not hot)

but ________ is here, and the ________ are beautiful

(season before summer) (noun)

and I think its going to be ok, even though my ________

(plural noun)

don't think its the best idea.

God has big plans in store.

________________________________