Here.
There will be no parades when there are no imaginations left to swallow and if every wall around us has nothing left to cry I will remember you as a silhouette in the sun playing w/dynamite and a stolen dream that has spoiled past the expiration date. Can you dance, dance? Can you move your way thru the poisons and knives and crawl clean into the idea that
you cannot figure out?

peace. love thru the broken end of a matchstick.
maybe we can. burn.

somehow the bees are dropping the eyes around them and we are beginning a
new day without the comfort of prayer.

I need a love. I need a new best friend who doesn't (********)
I need a comfort.
I need to leap from the shell---

and sell some...

heroes to those in the dark.

and then there were four of us--crawling thru the trees toward the river and i had no idea who these people were or why they found me wandering from murky sewer pipe to side of the graveyard. they told stories and made me smile.

"let us see the other end of this dream," he told me.

i tried and tried and i couldn't move.

"there will be something wonderful for you when you decide to die."

and music is cued, the children are put to bed for the evening, the wine flows, the stars have congregated for the good of everyone else, there was laughter and there were ways my bedsheets became parachutes.

"i have no other intention than to describe what love appears to be."