|
a five line ode to my poetry index.
a modern day view of the second-class carriage (or, weekdays). a quick memoir of september the eighth. a thousand witnesses. an eon and a day. banishment. belief and other such musings. blue period. considering your character. contemporary gipsy (a hippy love story). crazy music. envy. first cigarette. greyhound on 85th. gridlock. in short, september 13th. julie plays the hero. last cigarette, for terry olynik. my pathetic secret. my thalidomide baby. ode to communication. ode to giovanni lee alvarez (or, disenchanted). ode to the tough guy. passagers. sometimes, her name was. the seven minutes of sunrise (or, infatuation). the truth about him and i. you, lost. 2007 2006 2005 home |
|
Maybe when time stands still we'll be left lost within a hidden forest, Or swim within the pools of each other's eyes. An apocalypse could fall upon our timeless world and we'd be safe, Cradled in our silent tangents. And should a soul cast sight upon our separate world, We'd be invisible, alone, in solitary euphoria. And no matter what the masses say, No vixen's tricks shall lead astray, My anxious love for you. What could the writhing multitudes do... To you and I? We'll steal the soaring eagle's wings and let our souls loose upon the open sky, And laugh and wave it off when they try to question why, For our perfection we're unable to explain, as we seek out new terrain, And shun the Gods on high. "Here are your angels," we shall say, "Here are your sinless souls, "Here are the answers to your long forgotten goals, and you'll never have control, Over where our spirits fly." The masses couldn't even try. |