(enjoy)
joy
knowing that you know
and I know
who is hurting now
and you curl
your finger around
my thumb.
and in this,
I know you will
stand in the streets
and protect the cities
I somehow grew fond of;

Maybe you will play your old guitar,
and sing of ways we could
learn how to be
human again.

The first song is just for practice,
and your voice cracks a little,
you smile shyly
at the boys holding machetes
and the girls with baskets and babies.

You hum a bit at first,
and the men with guns and chains,
sway in uncertainty.

Then you throw back your head and
cry unabashedly
of the way we have given up pieces of us
and along the way lost more than we had.

My cities stand still; at least agreeing to listen.

Perhaps this is as close to joy as we could be,
today.

Thank you, I whisper; these are mine.

The boiling inside was met with dullings.
Just press it away
and describe a memory of a memory for posterity.

Surround it with gentle voices and gentle polite applause,
and turn this truth of what is happening now
into something sanitized and manageable
justifiable.

you vs. yourself

Always this choice,
you or me.
Ah and, is this
really freedom?

When I know you
are everything precious
and made,
and worth all there is,
or will ever be?

Where is the choice in this,
don't frighten me
with wasting so much.

Maybe they looked and did not understand this,
and 25 years went by,
so you looked in the mirror and met yourself with a blank stare

Face. Eyes. Hair. Lips. A sum of some
parts that make worth.

Darling do not make the mistake of the broken-hearted.

You walk into the flurries.
Every morning it's dark,
and every time you
glimpse at the sky, you see it
again.

The way that it is always
so thick. You drown it out
or drown it in,
as long as the day is done;

Sigh, trip, and fall into the next one
wasting your moments planning your moments
Until something ignites you,
and the greys of your day
burn like the desperate shout for someone to only
walk by and touch their skin.

What do you expect, burying all the burning things?
Don't they deserve to wail that you have forgotten?