ribbons

The ribbons which wrap presents

Are often strings. 

Disillusionment

Disillusionment is like a needle

– POP –

It pricks like a shot.

And all the air you’ve been breathing

(For the past five months,
or years)

Is bleeding
out of you

Leaving you breathless

And feeling
like a deflated balloon

From a party
nobody came to

No sky

don’t worry

my heart will not wither and die

it’s just that I’ve found out there is no sky

I read these words

I read these words and a world
Unfurls itself for me

What a Joke

haha
what a joke
and now it’s over

Do you love in details?

I wonder if everyone
Loves with details

When you love do you love him
For the way the sunlight falls across the line of his chin
Or the way he knows what poetry is?
Do you love the ways his hands explain things
Or his voice says things
Or the way his eyes spark
When he’s talking about exposition?

When you love do you love her
For the paint underneath her fingernails
Or the way she mumbles things in German
Or the way she never wears mascara
Except when she been up late reading Russian short stories

And when you love do you love trees
For the way their leaves fall
And the way their chlorophyl masks their true colors
And the way their branches rattle after the ice storms
And do you love the for the scars in their bark
From love and initials and hearts?

Whenever I think about your hands

Whenever I think about your hands
I feel
Like a cool white sheet in August sunlight

You are my Place

You are my place.
You are my green field,
You are my coffee shop,
My room painted blue

You are my space
You are my air,
My habitation
My bed and my bedroom

In You I abide
I, a man without a country
And without a race,
Find my nationality,
My heritage,
My family,
In Your face

For You are my place.

Sacrifice

It isn’t a sacrifice
Unless something dies.

The Sake of the Kingdom

The sake of the Kingdom is at stake
– what’s more –
The Name of our King

And in comparison
Comfort, wealth, love, family
I count as loss
And the clinging to it
Such great dross