I.
&on those Sunday mornings
when I come fresh and smelling
like my mother [;that thick almond like
   scent filled with white&flowers],
you will know
I need more than a self help book
and two evenings alone; I need
real hands touching & lovinglovingloving

because life cannot be fixed
with a do-it-yourself manual,
a wrench and some rusted tools from
deep within garages


II.
Sometimes
we call create stories
so we can run out of breath sooner


III.
You can smile,
my day dream lover,
&we can leave
to some where better
tonight

but we will not


IV.
I have a filtered faucet mind
full of metalscapes
and I still have the prison heart
I gave you the directions out of
while you were not listening

&in these dark corridors you will still
find me perched
by no deathbed- I do not
regret you- I love you today


V.
When your eyes are cast,
when my mind is full of
consumed heart thoughts, you/
I
smile, and I know that,
now


VI.
Life lacks movement
but
there are no stoplights
here, tonight,

So I filter though the air, I feel
you around me, always&
what would matter more?


VII.
I confide in a cause,
brought emotions across barbed wire
to flee accordingly into
the sunset where nothing
resides, but leaves to _

Still, I do not know
where these paths will lead
if I follow;
I follow ghosts and dreams instead


VIII.
I
trace outlines,
feel across
the maps already given to your skin,
I could fall, but am consumed
with giving this
old broken beaten worn body
to a better cause than
a crash and burn, &though it is,
I
catch each movement downward
at only
certain intervals


IX.
Feel this gently,
the soft 'I will love you completely today
if you
allow this passion break'

hands know more than
consciouses think
with flashes, I break soft and slow;

become
something more
than a lover's quiet need

I leave wills, at times, to you
so
pull, calmly, this astray