River.

You may call me
a blasphemer,
a ridiculous optimist,
one groping for blindness
or sight,
but I can't help feeling that it is all
temporary.
I can't help feeling that I am
forever.
All of their words,
painted on my face,
fade like the tags of a former
lover of the streets,
coward of the night.
This clay world with out me is
formless.
I am the river.

Jack Jack

Every morning
To the sound of his opening eyes
He pops to his feet
Ready
Resiliently grinning
As though to spite those who aren't
He wags his tail
He thrust proof onto the world
"This is for those who pretended.
For those that feign ignorance of me."
There is no weight
He does not understand regrets
Choreographed, he sniffs purpose
Lifting his dancing feet down the hall
There is no obstacle at the foot of your bed
Soon he is searching for your eyes
Yearning for the recovered
Hoping to teach you
Every morning
He wakes up clean

Let Me Down Easy

On the day that I die
Push my body to the sky
Secure the anger that I tied
To someone who is justified
Let my eyes be set aside
Allow my life to be the guide

May my bones be made of glass
Filled with questions I did ask
Clothed in all the time I lost
Above my riches and their cost
Bathed in the white I never allowed
My own good becoming my shroud