Homestyle Croutons

He figured he'd go down in history as one of two things. Either he set his sights too high for love or he was a picky, picky bastard. He had no idea which was more accurate. There were times he really wanted an objective referee to rule on the matter but he had trouble getting a definitive answer. As he fell forward through life, he'd found love under rocks, on shelves, in the mirror, in a cage, on a pedestal, naked on a horse, and coiled like a viper. He jumped in at each opportunity. He wore many hats on love's stage. He played the friend, provider, a leech, a confidant, a rendezvous, an excuse, the pawn, a rebound, and a sidewalk. He never had any doubt he'd marry. He hoped he'd have children. And here, across from a pubic library, in a park in the middle of flat city. He sat with perfect posture, alone.

Twenty years ago he busked these same streets for coffee and thrills. Behind a hotel he found a box labeled "Homestyle Croutons." He propped it up as a flag to a country. Love in the name of a band. He sang of love to come as much as love that was. He was awful but joy rang from his guitar and people listened to hope twanging from a string. He belted and raged from his throat because he had no sense of objectivity. It was the pure bliss of ignorance back then.

Today, he saw the tracks of the past. He remembered he didn't notice the shadows from the future. Here he was today, that same man. Sitting on the bench, vibing on yesterday.

Cosmos

I know he we got here.
There "he" was.
All alone in infinity.
Like the fish unaware of the water.
He was submerged in "is".
He longed to know himself.
He had no corners to turn.
No vistas to summit.
No secrets to reveal.
It was awful.
the almighty was bored.
So he couldn't take it anymore.
He turned in on himself and simply exploded.
It was brilliant.
It was marvelous.
It was stellar.
The Big Bang.
Pieces forget the whole.
Time turns to wave.
And space is the ocean.

A Better Man

Can a better man say no?
Does he empty himself to show affection?
Does he bend at every whim?
Who drives the better man?

A better man knows his lover.
A better man follows his passion.
A better man plants romance.
A better man is "show", not "tell".

Deep in the feet stands the better man.
A better man's touch scatters all doubt.
A tip of a finger opens a better man's door.
A better man is who i want to be.

Cake

In the closet, under the stairs, in the fridge, on the shelf, in the drawer, was a shiny wax box. In the box was a cake made of yellow covered with frosting and painted with flowers. Under the frosting was the happiest cake you ever knew. It sang and cooed the prettiest song under it's frosted blanket, deep in its box, tucked in its drawer, high on its shelf, deep in the fridge, behind the cushioned seal door, in the closet, under the stairs. No one knew how happy it was. No one could hear its song.

Then, one day, someone came into the closet and opened the fridge, slipped open the drawer, pulled out the box from the shelf. They opened the box and pulled out the cake covered in frosting. They stabbed it with candles and set fire to the tips. The candles dripped wax on the frosting while voices sang in joy and the cake was cut. It was split down the middle and columned and rowed. After it's body was chopped and put on plates and carried out to tables under a bright sun. Forks were jabbed into each of its parts. Teeth sunk deep into the yellow flesh that once sang. Tongues rolled and mushed the cake into tiny balls that rolled down the throats and into dark little bellies of boys and girls. Deep in the dark, the yellow cake was happy again and sang a beautiful song.

When love touches me

When love touches me.
A butterfly tickles my finger.
A creek whispers my name.
A trout winks under a crystal curtain.
Love fills my cave and I lay drowning.
My last sorrows gasping for air.
My old self becomes an empty cicada.
As my fingers make camp in the valley of your spine.
Gone are all the hungry coyotes.
This fire crackles for you and me.
Sparks blast off into the milky way.
Love, please don't let me go.

When knees fall

When knees touch the ground,
the sacred always listen.
Knees never fall in trivia.
Always a page folded from our story.
A high wrinkle in a silky life.
A mountain range worth a peak from heaven.
God watches that moment,
on our knees.
Knees ground when we fail.
They sink as we weep.
They fold when we pray.
They burrow when we give up.
But all is not from the dark.
On our knees we plant a tree.
From our knees we learn to walk.
And on our knees we promise forever.

Hands-free

With my hands free.
Words drip from a pen.
Letters vowel at the moon.
I live between these fingers.
Where touch is a circuit.
The energy of mood.
If i were all thumbs.
I'd hitchhike across the sea.
Our pinkies swear.
Rings engage.
Inside a church.
Under this steeple.
Nestled in the palms.
Counting the digits.
Ten, the perfect number.