surprise

maybe gods name should be oh...

A poem
for wishing i had new words to slide around
and give to your head
and your sinewy body and fingers to dance to
to watch your lizard form
tense
ready to pounce
relax in surprise
and delight
to get high on
wanting so to be high with you
high on your touch
high on your warmth
on you warm inside me
high on your strangness
and your rightness

Surprised
oh there it is
the spark on god was inside me
and you touched it
ignited it
just like two sticks rubbing together make fire
with the right rhythm
friction
tention
with the right tilt
right pressure
right materials
right stick and base board
cedar or basswood or pussy
ironwood hand hold
tool

and why baby
why i say baby
oh baby
then
I only say oh
when all the truths of the words i tried to form
escape from my open mouth
flow out of my mouth in silence
in nothing but breath
and its all caught
as it drifts up towards the sky
all the orgasms ever had
from the first explosions of stars
there is no word
for what i want to say
but oh

shit

Before, when all the ideas were grand, when the music was swelling and I could see my smile shining on your face.
When every inch of your skin was a silky land, unexplored.  when we scooped up shinny gems like snow flakes that fell from the sky.
Before my bicycle tire was frozen in the snow and the chain rusted.
Before I looked up at the sky and saw endlessness.
Before, when the intricate branches against the pastel sky were lace not just sad perfect shapes. Before the uncaring beauty settled into my heart and I saw how little I meant
How my small sadness would never end
Before I dropped my jar of hope on the hard sidewalk
And I helplessly watched the contents spread,
and soak into the cracks.
Before the laptop was broken, the cheap batteries dead,
My toes cold and my kid sick.
Before all the food that was left was bland and tasteless
But now the fight is almost over
We are loosing
And my faith that we can smile at the sunset is diminished.

No hunger here
No low or high
No cravings or urges to bite
No more desire
The sheets are dirty and ripped
No reason to fix or fight
Or clean
All that I would protect
Is doomed
Is numb
A moving frame in a distant box
Because I do not have another tear
I can't carry another scream.
I don't  want to join another
Any other
I am the waking dead
The crumbling human
I am the dry brown leaf
Waiting to be stepped on
Flattened, crushed under your shoe
Buried under the shit of stars smeared on the bottom of your boot.

If you say the world is shit
I may slide on it towards you
Or away
I may go sledding down a mountain of shit
I may slip
Loose my grip
Trying to scramble back up the loose stinking mess
sliding backwards
Nothing to hold onto that stays
That is sturdy
To help me reach you
I might grab a handful of it
and throw it at you
Hit you in the face
If that's what you believe
If I pick up a bucket full of sunshine and pour it over you and you believe it's shit
It might stink to you. Soak you, coat you
And would I, could I, lick you off?
Or leave you alone to wallow in the sty?
Grope your own way out?
Would I play mud pies with you?
Forget the smell with you?
Make cob bricks?
Build a warm cabin?
Or just sit down in my own pile and weep at the hopeless mess we are in?

Did you know before you were born what you were choosing?
Because you believe in something bigger
But I don't
I only believe in you and me
And now
And the long painful expanse of history
The slow swelling and dying of the universe
The dying sun
The lonely dog
The stories of love and torture
And neglect
I only believe in your body
And mine
And the bed you made
the soft sheets spread under us, over us, the warmth from the heater, the glass in the window 

and the cold outside.
I only believe in snowflakes and broken hearts and creamy yogurt.
The crazy mix of fresh water, childrens laughter and clogged pipes.
I only believe in gifts and rape
And dull pencils
Regret and joy and ripe apples
I know nothing of after life or meaning
Or gods in the sky.
And though I may dream of angels and fairies and golden spirits they are nothing to sun beams, weaker than the shadow of volcanos that were flattened millions of years ago.
And I would trade every God, all the blessings and kisses of all the angels, for your skin,
I would trade it all to touch and see
your face
smeared with sweat and pain and dirt
and the sweet real shit of earth and to tell you it is beautiful
and have you believe me.

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Stars

If mother earth is our mother than the stars are our great ancestors

Stars
if the stars could talk
and tell you their story
how they dreamed their whole lives of you
and me
how they cried, craved to give birth
how they had to break away from their own mothers
to leave
the womb themselves
in a fiery of pain and fly out into the emptiness of space
how they understand
that we are all lonely.
Oh beautiful blue stars
crying stars
turning stars in my belly
hungry to drink your cum
and pull it in
again and again
to send us back to their dreams
to create us
to be with us again
to dance with us in our shudders
and break out of us in our screams
to let us see them again
feel their souls
and know they are with us
they miss us.
Oh sad stars
we have gone so far from you
how hard we try to waltz back
to you
to see you
to make new life
as we fight crumbling back into the rocks of you.
We eat your fire
we bask in your heat
and yet feel you have forsaken us
what a tragedy
our predicament
to be so close
and to feel always
so far away

Low Standards

Thought that maybe my standards have been low. 
That to make it through a day alive, without giving up 
is a success. 
To make it through a day without being weighted down by anxiety or regret is sometimes a feat. 
That to stop in the day and see the sun and feel it on your skin is the biggest win there is. 
That to spend a day not selling lies or shit, 
not feeling like you are owned is about as free as you can get. 
That there is no greater good than to share a real hug or sit with someone while they cry. 
No greater good than to cherish a sprout or see glory in a small beautiful thing. 
Maybe I have seen myself as a cat and all I was designed to do is loaf through this life 
beautiful and warm, 
sleepy, bored and interested 
until a threat makes me jump to defend my turf, my place to nap 
and then when safe 
curl back up. 
Maybe my standards are low like the soil and earth 
and your perfect body laying down next to mine. 
low like us laying together, 
pulled down towards the core of our lost heavy little planet, 
floating in space.