Accepting such reasoning would allow me confidence in my stand and sooth my ego.
Allas I am intelligent enough to know the charity in my argument . and brazen enough
To know the properties of change.

I had decided not long ago in a drunken haze
to wallow aimless, watch my step not on purpose
and dance on my toes every chance I get and remember
when life comes at me , lean to the right and then left

I have come to believe as I live within this moment
to put one step after the other, to crawl after a fall
and then stand on shaken ground with my heels down
and look just a few steps affront not too away far

Do not quarrel with faith, don't go where you nought
try to know the extent of your might what you can or can not
remember there are billions more exactly like you around
and know your limit from your extreme left to right

You did not believe, you never believed. I whispered the secret , I told you the word, like I had never told any other. The bird in my chest sang for you and yet you did not believe. and somehow I know you never will. And I am happy in my truth in sincerity of my emotions. I hope you never miss the bird and the clarity of truth. I stand behind the window that frames all that is out there hoping for thirst hoping for hunger.

It's hard to define these times , life seems so surreal . There is such an abundance of images and urges, such gluttony of needs and depravations. Truth is lost in collaboration of expectations and denials .We forget how naked we came here and how bare we are left, and all that remains is but a dream we can not remember.

I can not reach you, as they are pushing the nails through your skin, as you heart is thorn in
a grief so cutting so severe that has bent your tall stand. all I can say is how sorry I am for
all is happening to you and the ghastly sorrow that has nestled within you and your beloved.
I pray for you to the Gods you believe in and the God I frequent in the same voice.

I laid down on the kitchen floor next to the stove as it hummed-- cooking. I thought how much I like the kitchen-- the place of sustenance. I like the quiet it brings me as I clean the dishes, clear the counter,put the washed glasses and utensils in the cupboard and then fill the dish washer with the soiled ones.the joy of small tasks that can take you away and the sense of accomplishment you get as the dinner is served. and the kitchen is cleaned with you walking out, turning the last light.

It is still snowing outside, it is suppose to snow all night, we have a tall window that frames all that is outside and you................

However I knew he needed a better explanation so I sat in front of him,
asking him to hold my head on both side. I knew I had to be fast so I
do not lose his attention. I had done this before once trying to have a
better grasp of what was on my mind.

I found the Zipper underneath my hair line, and gently opend it up
removing my scalp. Quickly unfastened the clips on the sides of my
skull and pushed it back carefully feeling the air on my brain and
asked him firmly if he could see what's on my mind, and why does
it hurt so much.

And yet he is a God, not an assumption but a reality perceived by him so
forcefully it convinces others to believe. He is God for he believes it with
no doubt, and yet this assumption would push his psyche to such labor
that he would soon wallow in expectation and guilt all wrapped in deity
of his self grander.

Is the story teller the villain or the anti hero, the murderer or the murdered,
the sinner or the puritan. he has the choice yet he does not bind the reality
of such decisions. The story take such decisions away. The story teller begins
the journey but the roads surely will turn, and to his dismay he loses his way, there
is a sunset and the gray dark empty quiet eerie of the woods where he gets
lost amongst parallel spaces as the story unfolds

Oh sweet sweet prince, such bitter sorrow,

How could sun rise again,

and the beguiling Moon should shun the world in shame

the images of you , of your youth, all in beauty

your eyes, your skin, your hair, and the fair constitution in you , sweet natured

with a smile that dazzled, sweet sweet prince, such a short journey, such shame

why the haste, such cruel cruel purpose, a beloved fallen, no reason, no reason

and the ones who loved you, the ones left behind with a chill in their bones

besieged by eternity of this pain, the finality of the passage,

sweet sweet prince, such a short journey

Such a bitter sorrow, why, why the haste !

some say she stayed too long
some say she looked too far
some excuse her youth
like the sevengalies and the muse

but she never read
the writings on the walls
some say if she had...........................
however its late. she is lost

I declare as if it is crucial for all to know that I am dying of hunger, no
it is not the quantity of feed or the quality of its essence but the need
in me to achieve my hunger and deny it all I can with a clear mind and
bulging anger that has served me my place on such a stage and the

generosity of the light that beholds me a nucleus within my being , yes
I am hungry and I can not eat. as simple as it sounds I am awaiting the
reach of pain as it crawls in me hands by hands bones to bones ,
alarming a sour danger that could linger and grow to its tension and

growl beast like within me ; FEED ME, FEED ME FEED ME and yet as
a child I need to shoulder him, resting his head on my frame and loll
him to sleep with promises of sugar canes and sweet dreams and
once he glides above the cloud with his eyes shut . I shall lay close

and await death calm.

I bring you a flower to find a certain joy in your eyes and cherish your disarming
smile. And yet you can only find fault as you look closer and see the color, not red,
not yellow, not white. And the assumptions of my intentions in choosing THAT color,
and why a single why not a dozen. Questions pop in your head and the joy is lost
as I stand wondering....... thinking to myself what happened to the joy which led
to that disarming smile

She asked for a window. I took her papers, I took her a pen , a new pen. she
took the pen , stock the paper on the wall and drew a window. She thanked
me for the pen and the paper , I said I was grateful for the window and then
we sat together held hands and watched the people passing by.

Let me remind you if I may. I am of rain, wondering in the early mist that settles
in the woods far away. I was bred on mountain air and open spaces, grown
of soil but vagabond like wind. I don't stay too long yet I will stay inside you
forever . And you should know I am fragile the way the sun is on its last ray
at sunset and the day is at midnight.I flee when you are not watching and I come
back when you sleep and what brings me back every time is the promise of
your smile and memory of your kiss.

Remember I am the accumulation of my years, I am the collection of my times,
There is a two years old boy still running in my head and the scent of her breath
when I kissed her at Twelve still takes me away. I remember the first time I
touched her at Fifteen like it was yesterday and I hear what my father
whispered in my ear at Seventeen, the day I went away. the sweet smile
and glee in her eyes the first time we met, the woman I loved and met at
Twenty Seven. The cry of my son at his first breath and the tears of knowing
the love that takes over and overwhelms at thirty five. And four years later
at Thirty nine my daughter made me fall in love again on her birth. Yes I died a
little at Forty nine when he died sudden and stood closer to the ones I love.
Yes I am all here, a bit weathered but all here..........

I asked her how she walks on water?
she answered me ; we float in air and pass by the water.
I asked her how she floats in air,?
she answered by the drink we had of that sweet nectar
What sweet nectar?
--the sweat soaked sweet nectar of the love that found us
How one gets to be found?
-- By getting lost. she whispered

And yet I was a child running on rooftops following the sun, drawing squares chalks in my hand, numbers in my head, I hoped and jumped and laughed loud when the kites fled swiming upward in the sky . I liked mischief, it was pushing shadows and craving the sun, it was the shallow pool with its green water and yet so deep , we choose the life we live, the gouls and the monsters I played them well sitting quietly still.

she had yellow hair and fair skin, buttoned eyes hazel round , she looked like the girls in the movies. She smelled of soaps and perfume, and her hair shined in the sun. She was foreign to us and so fetching in her novelty. For a brown native boy like me she was a prize and yet so out of reach. I could have asked, I could have desired I could have wanted her ........but The thrill of waiting was beyond any joy any pain , I learned to stay away, I learned to wait...........I had been awakened to reality of differences outside the limited collaborations of Blacks and whites, I have seen the posibilities of colors and how they brought new sensations , Colors had a different reality, there was sentiments in colors, emotions, and so much posibilities. By the second grade she dissapeared. But then i had come to know all the subtleties of Browns and ambers, oranges and reds, I read my black and white papers and yearned for the colorful images that came my way in books and magazines.

I found how my body reacted to stimulies. I would close my eyes and try to remember the sensations, and the images they offered me. The scents that hurled within me and danced on the scenseroy receptive nerve endings and bled in pinks and yellows, a certain joy that ran under my skin and expanded within me, Joy , joy, and the breath it took from me, the friction of joy in me -skin, flesh or bone, within my head, my loins, joy and how it made my eyes sleepy and the fog it brought to my head, a humid mist to get lost in and day dream. I was hooked, I was charmed, colors, textures, images , visions, to tremble to shiver, hot little mercurial silver bolts crousing in me, day dream mornings, and midnight ropes, chains to hang by and dare in different realms of raptures simple.

Quiet heat of afternoons when sun was many blinks away. There was a stilness in the air-- like the day had stopped in its track, dripping slowly . Life was moving away, walking steady in deliberate steps , shadows extending long in whispers and murmers of closed doors, humid windows and dizzy spells of urges , hands that tripped underneath her blouse, greedy femmes, oh curiosity we met in long quiet fternoons of girls with long hair lost in the teetering rythem of a certain growth, as I touched their skin and sniffed their air of sweat soaked sweet necter, pure and clean, I was charmed , bewitched by my own witchery , floating in beauty as the green frog smiled at the moth and licked its lips eyeing a fly at distance, humid , as the yellow walls swelled in patches.

we swam in silence . moving still, moving motionless, floating. The dragon was sleep and there was adventure behind every tree --places to see were we could disrobe and show our young penisses, laughing at each other
knowing the slippery flesh of sin, innocent devouring sin waking under our skin, poking sleepy yet waking pushing,
the secret was beyond , further down maybe behind the bushes of wild roses bleeding in their crimson dark rivers floating inside every blossom they bloomed. I kissed her pushing my frame slender on her with my head to the side
like the boy on the screen way up in black and white. gently pressing my lips on hers feeling her warm breath. and how sweet, how tender, how precious, ...........................the marbles green, teal yellow, clouded marbles sleek to touch, in their glassy indifference cold marbles rolling on the rug toward different corners, did i open my hand did I let them go, how did the hour pass, clouds ran trough the sky and the pink dark blue gray horizon rolled toward the west in one swift motion. I rolled the film in the camera, lookin through the lenz, I tries to catch it and hold it so I could look back. with my face arched in my palm , covered by my fingers.........

There were more distances between the walls, the walls were taller made of straw and mudd thick as they were tall...........The trees though hid the souls that roamed in the garden at night you could see their etheral frames moving amongst the dark spaces as they pushed the air and the branches trembled , some leaves fell . we stood behind the window pane and shivered cold worried if they saw us and if they should come to take us away behind the last bush that crowded the end of the garden in that dead space, were air stood still and moth grow, where every thing ended in a bare emplty halt . The darkness started there and poured like a fog as it covered all. The emptiness, horrifying, the stilness eerie. We all believed that you could get caught in that space and get carried away beyound the walls or maybe inside, like a piece of straw, mud, stone caught, left forever, motionless, with your mouth open eyes buldged in fright , shouting soundless wrapped in silence.