Your dream girl

shits and pisses and bleeds and winces–
especially during the miracle of life.
She is not some smooth plastic object or mechanized road machine.
She is a living organism breathing and trying to find her way through life,
weak and strong, brimmed with success and tragedy–
the solemn and the sullen, the giggle and the hiccup.
She is fluid and fickle, steadfast and solid–
awaiting your coming, yet venturing forth without you.

She is your dream girl but never was a dream.

She’s all down here, all up there

Can’t decide
between the friend
and the idea of
crossing the bridge of action–
misunderstood always
like the use of English,
complicated, because there’s no way else to live–
I mean to analyze:
parsing desires and relationships
like grammar.

She’s all down here, all up there
in a heaven where they don’t wear white, but red
and don’t have it all together
and we love tension
because it refines
and that’s fine with me
as we pray for fortitude from the gurgle inside
and the pride that bubbles over
into the glass blown gods of creativity
reflecting second thoughts and shadows of fear in our minds’ eye
of what freedom from our common sense might have rung in our ears–
For all I have now are eyes and ears(–letters and sounds).

One of these days

we’ll watch movies, play monopoly,
I’ll be the terrier, you the cavalry,
we’ll sing and dance under clouds of rain,
not so similar songs, but the tune’ll be the same,
there’ll be reading of writing of long ago,
maybe quoting of passages we’ll always know:
we’ll bear the hearts we hide from public eye
to another that understands the why
there’s been cowering in corners too long–afraid,
afraid of what our Creator has blessed and made,
you’ll arrive on a north wind, I on a south,
will meet together and forget life without,
for I sense a change in the air,
but no vane heralds quite where.
or who or where it will take us to

Laughter on a wedding night

Laughter on a wedding night
Thank God, no professionals
for this is a covenant not a job.
How do we use these things?
Oh well, a lifetime to figure out. . . .