Sunrise

You be the sky, dressed in the starry black dress of night.
I'll be the sun rising, lifting the hem of your dress slowly
Revealing your naked blue body,
Growing ever brighter as I reach my zenith
And shine down for all the world to see.

A Dying Wish

His dying wish, he said, was to lose his virginity.
Only, not to a prostitute--he wouldn't feel right,
Since he had already sinned enough in his life
And he only had a few bucks to his name anyway.
He pleaded with his nurses, but they just laughed
And shook their heads. "But I'm serious," he would say,
"Won't you send a dying man to Heaven
Before he has to go to Hell?"
It broke my heart to watch him suffer so.
Finally, I took pity on the man.
I told him I had a friend who had a heart of gold
And just so happened to have a thing for older men.

I drove down Main Street and picked up a young blonde
Hooker named Joanna. I gave her the scoop, and she
Promised to play along. We drove to the hospice,
Where the old man lay dying. I explained everything
To the nurses. They understood, and gave their approval.
When we walked into the room, the old man turned
And looked at us with his dying eyes, and let out
A loud low gasp. "Joanna!" he cried. "Is that you?"
"Mr. Thomas?" Amazing. Joanna had been his student
Years ago at the junior high school he had taught
For the better part of his life. Things are odd.
It turns out Joanna had always had a crush on her teacher.
She gave the man his wish, and didn't even ask
To be paid.

Making It

When I am willing
To stand out in the rain
For six hours

Intently gazing
At a beautiful landscape

In order to produce
Three lines of poetry,

Then, and only then,
Will I know I've made it

As a poet.

Manhood

It was the tipping point of my youth,
When whatever was left of my childhood innocence
Slipped through my fingers.
I was in bed, dreaming of a
Dark-cloaked figure.
Before the long silver blade of his scythe
Reached my throat, I awoke,
Conscious of my mortality for the first time.
I got up, opened my window, stuck my head outside
And screamed at the top of my lungs:
"We're all going to die!"
As the lights in the houses flicked on
One after another,
I knew then and there
That manhood was not going to be easy.

Answers

Tonight, the walls of the tavern
Echoed with wild ideas.
Some said that man needed to change his ways
Or nature would destroy him.
Others said change was inevitable
And proceeded to vomit on the floor.
Some said life was a joke,
Others, a riddle.
But no one was laughing,
And no one had any intellect to spare.
Using words they didn't know the meanings of,
Men contradicted themselves so many times
It was impossible to know who they really were.
I tried not to judge, and in so doing,
Felt horrible about myself.
I left, reeling, exhausted,
But with so much confusion, how could I sleep?
Drunk and out of my mind,
I needed answers.
Hoping to find some,
I went knocking on my own door.
Alas! No one was home.

Maturity

Many a time in my youth I wandered the streets
Drunkenly belting my song for all the world to hear.
Usually, I got picked up by the police
And put in the nut house for a week.
I fought hard for my song.
At night I'd sing it so that no one could sleep.
During the day, so no one could think.
Slowly, through much persuasion, my song
Began to quiet down.
Now a man, I stand here at this bus station
Whistling--not softly, as if to myself,
But not so loud that I get dirty looks, either.
Just loud enough to announce my song
To those around me, all the while hoping
That they are enjoying it
As much as I am.

Prayer for the Dead

My soul in exile, I walk the streets
Slowly crafting a prayer to call it back.
The giant oaks steal my breath,
As do the graves and the iron fence.
The people, their eyes like vacuums,
Are enigmas, fleeing from their holiness.
I move about with all the aimlessness of dust.
Now dusk, the church bells resound.
I gaze up just in time to see a flock of birds
Fly over my head.
This prayer is no longer for my own soul,
But for the souls of the dead.

Towing the Moon

Deep in the forest a hundred miles away
A mountainous man is towing
The moon across the darkened sky.
He trudges, pulling at the rope
Tied around his waste to spread light
To the otherwise dark places in the world.

But the trickster fox has been gnawing
At the rope, and it snaps.
In terror the mountainous man turns
To watch the moon float
And disappear, laughing, into deep space
Where it will find freedom amongst the stars.

Modern-Day Bedlam

Black market mad house, modern-day Bedlam.
They all came to watch me count rose petals,
Blushing to the ears in my corner,
As Joey and Donnie made rainbows
With their snot, and Maria sang and wept
For O.J., the invisible monkey whose beauty,
She said, was too divine for anyone but her
To see.

A family of four came one Saturday.
The young daughter pointed me out.
"I want him!" she pleaded.
Her parents conceded.
Now I have the walls of a whole house
To draw on, and a whole family
To drive mad.

Wine, Women, and Song

Wine, women, and song
Are the three great pleasures of a man.
Wine is cheap, song is free,
But women warrant a hefty fee.
I got good at song so I could buy wine,
And got good at drink
So my standards in women would sink.

The Tortoise Race

The human race is too competitive.
I think I'd like to join the tortoise race.

I could find a cardboard box,
Paint it green and gray,
Cut out holes for my arms, legs, and head,
And crawl my way out of this stinking city
To the forest, where I would live off the plant life
And insects, if I was so inclined.

If I came across a fellow tortoise,
I'd bow to him, to prove that I didn't
Think myself superior because of my size,
And we would be friends, and he would
Show me the ropes of being a tortoise,
Introduce me to a possible mate, perhaps.
And the best part is, all of this would happen
Very slowly, just at the pace I like.

I would be able to sleep as late as I like,
My body snug in the darkness
Of my warm little shell.
I would move my arms and legs
Over the muddy surface by the river--
"Mud angels" I'd call the imprints I left there.
From my place beneath the trees,
I'd spend all day watching the sun move overhead,
And all night counting stars.

And I would be content in my laziness,
No human bustle to make me envious
Or lust-crazed. And when I did decide
To take action, I'd do it slowly,
Deliberately, the way a child learns
To play with a new toy.

Yes, it would be nice to join the tortoise race,
If I only had the nerve to leave the human one behind.