Talking

You bring it out of me,
make me talk like a poet
on these paper wristband nights,
then you wash my mouth out
with the box of soap
I’m standing on.

Noticing

The way your mouth 
twitches when you think,
the turquoise in your rings.
Yes, everything’s beautiful
when I’m noticing.

July

Floating in the cool warm water
of Grand Lake O' the Cherokees,
fireworks crack, glow, and sizzle 
above me as I rest 
in an edible’s afterglow.

Hot bright ash falls around me 
or maybe instead my body 
is being flung through the stars.

I become less separate,
just another molecule,
a 2001 space baby
in amniotic hyperdrive.

I Lie Down

I lie down 
and my camera, paints 
and passport lie untouched too 
while a great emptiness passes 
through the center of me. 

I wait for dreams to come 
fill me with meaning,
for my unconscious to speak
its ideas into images 
my ego can understand. 

So I text you again
with the idea that you
might be worth waiting for
and another idea 
that I’ve been wrong before.

I come by yours
and we dance the dance
of interest then disinterest, 
the turns and steps and twists 
of interest then disinterest. 

My black boots,
clumsy and sideways, 
scuff against your white shoes. 
I kiss you and you don’t 
quite kiss back. 

I squint to see
if I can find myself 
mirrored within you, 
some reflective symmetry
seeing back into me.

I’d ask my friends
what all this meant,
but no one ever falls 
my way when I push
them off the fence.

I drive home on dark
humid highways of mayjunejuly,
and if you can’t see my mirrors
I can’t see me coming
around here again.

Mine

I want you open and raw
and mine. I want you alone
and naked and mine. I want you
under my hands asking for more
and mine.

Hair

Hair of the dog, your dog,
it follows me already
across my shirt, my couch
my car and I don’t mind.

Hair on your head
on my shoulder
on your loveseat,
softly between my fingers.
It’s coconut and I didn’t know
I loved coconut.

Hair on my chest, my arms,
my legs, I hadn’t thought of it
much until I saw how it met
your skin under fluorescent lights
through Venetian blinds.

Poem for Beau

Happy birthday,
little boy Beau,
they could fill books
with the things
you don’t know.

You’ll learn a start
from your teachers
and then some more
down under
the bleachers.

You’ll learn to run
across a field
with your team and
opponents
on your heel.

You’ll learn of worlds
waiting in books
filled with magic
and secrets
if you look.

But all the words
up on the shelf
can’t teach you what
you’ll have to
live yourself.

Love that feels like
third degree burns,
joy, pain, and awe
will visit you
in their turns.

But I know you’ll
always get through
because I know
the people who
care about you.

I hope you learn
to ride a bike
and that you can
be anyone
that you’d like.

But there’s one thing
I’d always add,
be as much
as you can
like your old
mom and dad.

You Should See Me

You should see me 
in a tailwind, cresting a hill 
on my bike, shoulders sailing, 
light in my saddle, grass 
clippings on my cheeks, 
and an involuntary smile. 

You should see me 
forget the limits of what 
I deserve, accepting rich
goodness without 
embarrassment. 

You should see me
now.