Sometimes...

Hey, you there -
. . . listen to me. Listen.
. . . Listen, just listen.
I've got a song to sing, a story, tell
between heaven's muses and the angels in hell
. . . not caught up in the corner office
he's the stranger walking free
. . . across the frozen river side,
. . . heading straight for me.

Pause. Stop and stare.
. . . don't scare so easy, child
what's with the eyes - no wilderness inside
could have prepared you
. . . have you scared yourself enough
what's tougher -
. . . this riddle or your hide?
. . . want to see -
. . . . . . won't take but a moment, won't it?
this is when you freeze
. . . when you meet his eyes
. . . . . . you hit your knees
and beg
. . . for your life
. . . . . . to be taken
. . . . . . to be shaken up
. . . . . . brought back in style
stay a while
. . . no glimpse of passing time
not a half-assed rhyme
. . . that flees direction
no protection left to be sought
only pains - bought and taken
. . . you're mistaken if you think for an instant
that anything else could happen

. . . just hold it
not my hand -
. . . your breath
let go - it's slowly seeping through
your seams
. . . dripping.
dips off moments of life,
. . . just enough to question
if this protection you sought
. . . will really be enough
if w'ere just blind man's bluffing fate, now,
. . . and how
. . . . . . else would we know?

A letter to a boy

This is a letter to a boy who walks
head and shoulders above the rest -
always seeming like he's seeking
greener pastures, or looking for me.

This is a letter to a boy who catches up
when I let him, never knowing it's not just luck
that draws me out of the crowd I become,
because desperation is only fun for so long
when he says, "Come here, kitten,"
commanding voice, unflinching eyes - I'm smitten
and curiosity killed the . . . urge to wander away again
so now I'm done with pretending.

This is a letter to a boy who moves
like the weight of thoughts and ideas
future, present, past
could never hold him back from
me, a body he's grown to own
dragged from every syllable scratched
into this patchwork quilt of injuries, we make
together, one square at a time,
leaving bruises, drawing blood
as we ease towards what could
be the newest caution line, unrecognized
until cauterized with screams
fate plays cruel jokes with handcuffs and emotion
building devotion
and commitment to not trying to run away
from this moment in time when he first said
"You hurt me" and I was anguished that he meant it.

This is a letter to a boy who isn't all real
because we still both live partly in another century
and while he means what he says is still ambiguous
about if he means "us"
as in two people, or together.
In the wandering meantime wondering if we've played at house
long enough to pretend this could be reality.

This is a letter to a boy who once said
nothing in the silence
because the slowing breath of sleep
had stolen in to ration already-precious time
when he didn't realize Sleeping Beauty
was only partly enchanted and could still hear him.
So he slipped out of bed to pen her a poem
goodbye.

Awakened.

I don't think I've been this captured by words
since I was back in the past
twisted a little too close for comfort
by the dark-haired poet and his green-apple cigarillos.
There's a special place
reserved for those who forsake sleep for laughter,
and poor choices;
I'd show you the way, but I falter
and sink into the ground
like so much rainwater -
like so much thought.

This isn't me capturing your imagination.
Let's be clear.
This is about payback for promises
some other incarnation made and failed to deliver on.
This isn't about connections,
attractions - the failures
trial trial trial and error
bring.
If I were spontaneous the way you clearly aren't,
this would be about more than forging metal between two minds
far too perfectly suited to the welding process.

Let me hear your voice
and let it be song -
the painful, chaotic ring
of agonies unspoken.
And tell me when you do,
what the hardest part is
of being you.