Some Girls Love

Some girls love high-status boys,
With fancy houses, fancy cars,
And even though they may be grown
Will still moon over rockstars —

But others see things differently,
And love wherever love may lead,
And don’t require crowds to tell
Their hearts what they may need.

And all that I can say of this
Is I’m glad for the second kind
Or else I’d live a lonely life
With no one to call mine —

For though I have a few things now,
I lack the apparatus
To give a woman more than me
Or anything

Like status


Morning’s broken light:
And who was saved again
Last night?

‘Twas me, I think,
Although in pain
Of conscience, portal,
Heart, and brain —

We ran the mortal
Curtain down:
We sang our songs,
And made our toasts

With golden glasses
Lifted high
For these, our most
Beloved ghosts –

The taking in
That locks me out,
The taking on
That bids me leave

When only silence
Holds the truth
Of what it is to live
And grieve —

But summer
With its teeming voice
Of frog, fly, and
Cicada choir

Reminds me now:
I have a choice —
Between the dark
Or something



all of us get taken

out of context,

all of us get taken

for a ride,

each of us is taken

for some other,

none of us is known

for what’s inside.

malefactors know

they’ll have their season,

benefactors know

they’ll get their say,

many factors make up

our appearing,

none of which mean 



7 Essences – 7

She a dancer long ago
I still see her as she was
Paths crossed for a little while
But diverged at last because

She’d a different journey mapped
I had places yet to see
And no use in holding on
To what wasn’t meant to be

Dating is a thousand pains
Taken on to try to find
Someone who returns the look
Who can love us soul and mind

I can still recall her grace
And her almost silent voice
And be happy actually
That I wasn’t her



7 Essences – 6

At night, asleep, I see her in a garden:
Her dancer’s stately walk, and pensive mien,
And feeling as though I should beg her pardon,
For holding on to something she’d cut clean.

But she – she cannot see, nor can she hear me:
This is a dream, but still she’s out of reach,
And I, a fool, a mere thing of convenience,
Can’t move her anymore by act, or speech —

And even in my dreams, I find no comfort,
Just watching her in gardens of regret,
And knowing in the morning, I’ll still love her,
While she my name and face will soon forget.

    And I recall friends telling me, “let go.”
    But still, so many nights of this dumb show