MY RIGHTS

You’re yawning up way too much

of this life

I’m just waiting for your death

so I can cherish your words

in another matter

I’m a reflection, rather than a thief

when it comes down

to syllables

What is needed is taken

What is taken isn’t yours

to begin with

What is ordained

remains the glowing ash

before the sweep

Stop your moon-trafficking

and dissolve

LET'S GET SORTED

She is neither woman nor child

but she makes my gut weep

for suspenseful solitude

An abridgement of our life

Sorted, signed, and agreed upon

Shackled to the heart but not to the arms

TUNE TO ME

tune your chord of silence

to my feverish song

not cold and coarse

but as if we were swinging

on those powerlines

in full-voltage silence

now dance to the chord

of my fever, not our fret

the one we knew best

if you recall the ways

turn away as a milky calf

pigheadedly mute, laugh

throw down your instrument

and kiss my unwashed cheek

WHITE SOLITUDE

I don’t know about strength

but the sweetness of solitude

is all in my weak

empty

sponge

of a heart

with the Book of Longing

floating nowhere

on two well-worn pillows