You're someone with
some thing to
figure out,
with the
and the idea that
some things happen.
Some hand to hold,
some heart to feel;
some legs tangled with some arms,
a warm some-hand grazing
some-hip telling how
one feels some-love
and some-grace from some thing
that comes from
some place inside of you.
Hold me, somehow,
very close.
Tell me how some things
work out and some other things

The Great Divide

It seems that
we've come as
far as ever --

a growing
extinction of
the great divide

crowding itself
and suffocating
we've come all

this way
who are we to say
that birds do not

into the sun
who are we to judge

how any person
can be in love--
for we,

two souls,
walk this Earth,
hands pressed against

our mouths
to keep us from vomiting
up our demons

keep us from spitting
it's been too long

and we've come too far
to turn back
and start again.

As Migrants

As migrants from our own pious bodies,
we held hands through pouring rain and 
ran from those things which hoped to keep us.

We submerged ourselves deep into the Cuyahoga,
letting the currents ease us away from our lives,
her pacifism, something much more to learn from.

We let the water glaze our skin with rich culture
and vagrant God's who'd settled along her banks.
We thought it chance that life would become

something much bigger than we'd planned.
We designed skyscrapers to build with our
hands as we'd tightrope across wire cables

high over upper-Manhattan or someplace grandeur.
We let our tears fall from rainclouds and hummed
along to the soft music which played inside of us.

Young nights grew into days as we learned
how to use our youthful bodies as something
more than for breathing and running.

We read books for the promise of a greater tale--
maps for the promise of finding ourselves
through the devilish hellfire of the Arizona

desert. We thirsted for love and found it on
park benches and back seats. We prayed to the
Sun God's that this summer would last an eternity.