unless writing a poem
is like riding a bike
or swimming upstream
or loving you
it may be a habit that once aquired
is never lost
but you say i’m foolish
of course you love me
but being loved of course
is not the same as being loved because
or being loved despite
or being loved
if you love me why
do i feel so lonely
and why do i always wake up alone
and why am i practicing
not having you to love
i never loved you that way
there will be children in the cold of winterchildren like a quilted blanketare welcomed in our old agechildren like a block of ice to a desert sheikare signs of status in our youthwe feed the children with our culturethat they might understand our travailwe nourish the children on our godsthat they may understand respectwe urge…
gentle as a teardropstrong like the eyefinding peace in a crowded roomwe poets tend to thinkour words are goldenthough emotion speaks tooloudly to be definedby silencesometimes after midnight or just beforethe dawnwe sit typewriter in handpulling loneliness around usforgetting our lovers or childrenwho are sleepingignoring the weary warinessof our own logicto compsoe a poemno one…
Buttoned my car…and drove mycoat home…in the rain…after loving youI goed on red…and stopped ongreen…floating somewhere in between…being here and being there…after loving youI rolled my bed…turned downmy hair…slightlyconfused but…I don’t care…Laid out my teeth…and gargled mygown…then I stood…and laid me down…To sleep…after loving you
‘Good night’no matter how young or old you areSome people don’t remember thatlove islistening and laughing and askingquestionsno matter what your ageFew recognize that love iscommitment, responsibilityno fun at allunlessLove isYou and me
that rhymesbut revolution doesn’t lenditself to be-boppingthen my neighborwho thinks i hateasked – do you ever writetree poems – i like treesso i thoughti’ll write a beautiful green tree poempeeked from my windowto check the imagenoticed that the school yard was coveredwith asphaltno green – no trees growin manhattanthen, well, i thought the skyi’ll do…
it so much and i kissedit and it was happy and called its cousinsand brothers and a webof snow engulfed me theni reached to love them alland i squeezed them and they becamea spring rain and i stood perfectlystill and was a flower
