High winds in spring, flip the skirt tail of his girl, unaware. 
Her dress tail is like a parachute; modesty is lost;
he quickly covers her and protects his girl's dignity.

Listen, as the storm has calmed
As the rain has ceased,
As it’s all slowed down,
Won’t you listen to me?

You’re gonna live longer,
You’re gonna run faster,
You’re gonna fight harder,
But your life will be harder.

Choose,
Choose to stay
Hold your thoughts
Don’t burn your stories away.

You’re gonna live longer,
You’re gonna hold tighter,
You’re gonna dream better,
But your life will be harder.

Mirrors reveal a face
so unfamiliar
And a body
so foreign
This flesh is mine
but it is not me
These eyes are mine
and with them I see
but they are not me
Breathing in and out
Heart beating throughout
A body that is mine
but not me
When you look at this face,
it's not me you see
But when you read these words
you see me

Your words are poison
coated with honey-sweet lies
decreasing self-worth

Do not speak of love
when you caused many heartaches
with your selfishness

A real man speaks truth
not hide like cowardly fools
behind shades of lies

the birds reap but they do not sow
my unfriendly stigma to these groove
gown in sticks dressed scarecrow
and worn out shoes counterpart
seeking for a job, when told of august scarce
briefcase and spring Achilles tendon
subways for all provisional matters
thereby the encampment of military enforcement

Those fingers are not like my family’s fingers.
And it’s okay, we even voice different,
never mind the language
Small trivial
air-weight vessels.
But it’s interesting, watching…
Subjectively perceiving a blended image
The most real of dreams
Ones not fast forgotten
And how this affects everything:
It’s in the milk
it’s in the butter,
now
we eat it with strawberries.
For ever,
now. It is forever-now.
My eyes,
can be seen
watching, as with fallible grace,

Pink cherry blossoms
overcome by signs of spring
sprouts of green foliage

opium
harsh bitterness hangs in the air
like this moon
shorn of cloud beyond
our reflections in the old poured glass

panes of pangs
secrets

delvish ruin
upon our arms
we drape our wounds
our aches
like gleaming charmes
and rush to greet
a calamity we become
sinking fast
the heat of our hunger
dripping like morning
the husks of a flowers
once beautiful
soft newness

petals of sighs
drowsy and high

it is not funny
when I do not get my way-
no more hugs for you

You two

I tell all my good friends
that Ian and Jess
are the lights
the torches
the candles
the flames
and
just say any names
who have reached out
from earthly to heaven domains

to teach me poetic games
which one day,
some day
all poets will frame
in their minds
as do you two

and

I love the way you polish a poet,
innocent of poetic nuances
like you always do
You two