Stained-Glass Love

She gave to him a stained-glass love
That looked so good in light so pure,
But that turned cold within the dark
And closing of the door.

But other men still envy him
The beauty he resides within;
But they don’t the love he knows
That involves neither heart

Nor skin

Adjacent Unrealities

In childhood, I stumbled on
Adjacent unrealities
Available on books and screens,
And so began dualities
Of what was really lived, and what
Was merely felt or thought,
But more of these
I almost always sought.

This is part of our growth.
It’s hard to know which to prefer —
Though some of these were bought
And others ambient and free,
I could not see that some of them
Were not that good for me, because
Some of them were.

Slow-forward fifty years and now
That battle has been won:
In the age of overdoing,
Everything is overdone.
The heart’s great appetite for play
Is stretched beyond its moorings,
And everything’s acceptable
As long as it’s not boring.

When I must choose far more
Than my capacity for choosing,
I find it’s to my detriment.
It’s my mind I’m abusing —

It is unhealthy living in
Adjacent unreality:
For real life is the road, and
Fantasy’s

The scenery

My Doctor Says

My doctor says that I should x,
But I am through with x’ing;
For every x, there is a “y” —
The whole thing’s rather vexing.

So many known unknown unknowns;
They vary in the passing —
My doctor says, if I’d be whole
I need to quit half-assing

My mind and body are my own,
Except, they go where he goes;
He looks at wax inside my ears
For reasons only he knows

He’s late, and so I sit and wait;
My schedule rearranging —
My doctor says that I should x,
But “x” keeps fricking
Changing

One Drawback of Imagination

The things that I remember are
Far better than the truth;
I find these nonexistent clues
Like some great pseudo-sleuth

I make a past that never was
From castles in my mind;
While yet the boy I really was
Gets farther left

Behind

Tarantella


When looks are all you want,
They’re all you get


We usually take
The image for
The reality,
Because
Our eyes can
Take in images,
Whereas our minds
Can’t take in
Realities


When we can’t change our lives,
We can always change our clothes
Pretending they are the same thing


On the other hand,
Playing dress-up and pretend
Are among our more honorable pursuits


In the end, though,
It’s just us, being us,
And trying to look as good as we can
Doing it —
Envying the handsome boys
And the skinny girls
And whoever else we choose to
Focus our resentment upon —


Or,
If we a comfortable enough within ourselves,
We can just appreciate people for who they are
And what they are good at