Being human means we get to be everybody In the . Monday, 23 March 2009. Being human means we get to be everybody. I am that ugly sister, thinking. About the certain slant of light. Which glances off the scissors. As I stuff my feet into. And I am that prince. Who, 10 years on,. When I found her the second time around. And I am the butler who still works for her.

My brain is on fire. Thoughts scald me like liquid stars. And ask me to soar with them. But my heavy skin chortles and reclines,. So for now, I sit. In a galaxy of homebound ideas. My binding words wrapped around me. Things I should do, start, cry. I go to the kitchen to invent dinner. Finite, obsolete, dull.

This is a series of poems I am writing for my wife. I will write a new one each day until she has had her fill of poems, or until my fingers fall off. Friday, March 5, 2010. I was sitting next to you. You were sitting next to me. And I asked you out,. With not a single hint of doubt,. That you would be glad. To go out with me. My heart skipped a beat,. And did back flips out of glee. And Here we are now,. And I love you even more.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016. Manhood Lessons of my Youth. I was little when I watched. The older black boys, men to me,. Playing basketball two blocks away. Through the air of parking lots unused. Of leisure and assembly,. The languid grace of plays. Ballet of men, cordial, by the rules. Was their measure and their sport,. So purely unlike the unfair world. That had no job or school for them.

The voice if of reason were heard itself, love would come about. Now, more loosely speaking, what if an individual who is remarkable was noted to only do the things that were remarkable? Would that not make sense? Then, too, would our argument still not stand true? In Memory of Sigmund Feud. So, dreamers and opportunists, realists and idealists alike, pragmatists and optimists- all are welcome to what is herein however much possible. There is no right time. For me, you see, the best of all pos.