I wonder,
why only fools fall in love,
how is that we belive in a word of love,
a rose, one look, a heavenly smile,
and we are down so hard

Fools paint the sky of a vivid blue,
and the fluffy clouds of pink,
all the birds sing only of love,
and hearts go dancing everywhere

A fool in love can conquer the world,
and the highest mountain is only a mole,
they catch stars with their bare hand,
and place them on the beloved's bed

So why then do fools cry so hard,
when all the love is gone,
when the moon looks blue,
and the song is of loneliness

A fool keeps falling in love,
catching butterflies to place
on her hair,
while dancing on one foot

I wonder if it is so bad to be a fool,
or just a dreamer who never stops,
on making dreams all his life,
a fool who is in love with love.

my foundation was rocked
my tried and true way to deal was to vanish
my departures were old
I stood in the room shaking in my boots
at that particular time, love had challenged me to stay
at that particular moment, I knew not to run away again
that particular month, I was ready to investigate with you
at that particular time

we thought a break would be good
for four months we sat and vacillated
we thought a small time apart
would clear up the doubts that were abounding
at that particular time, love encouraged me to wait
at that particular moment, it helped me to be patient
that particular month, we needed time to marinate in what "us" meant
at that particular time

I've always wanted for you what you've wanted for yourself
and yet I wanted to save us high water or hell
and I kept on ignoring the ambivalence you felt
and in the meantime I lost myself
in the meantime I lost myself
I'm sorry I lost myself..i am

you knew you needed more time
time spent alone with no distraction
you felt you needed to fly
solo and high
to define what you wanted
at that particular time, love encouraged me to leave
at that particular moment, I knew staying with you meant deserting me
that particular month, was harder than you'd believe
but I still left
at that particular time

yes, 
us people are just poems 
we're 90% metaphor 
with a leanness of meaning 
approaching hyper-distillation 
and once upon a time 
we were moonshine 
rushing down the throat of a giraffe 
yes, rushing down the long hallway 
despite what the p.a. announcement says 
yes, rushing down the long stairs 
with the whiskey of eternity 
fermented and distilled 
to eighteen minutes 
burning down our throats 
down the hall 
down the stairs 
in a building so tall 
that it will always be there 
yes, it's part of a pair 
there on the bow of noah's ark 
the most prestigious couple 
just kickin back parked 
against a perfectly blue sky 
on a morning beatific 
in its indian summer breeze 
on the day that america 
fell to its knees 
after strutting around for a century 
without saying thank you 
or please 

and the shock was subsonic 
and the smoke was deafening 
between the setup and the punch line 
cuz we were all on time for work that day 
we all boarded that plane for to fly 
and then while the fires were raging 
we all climbed up on the windowsill 
and then we all held hands 
and jumped into the sky 

and every borough looked up when it heard the first blast 
and then every dumb action movie was summarily surpassed 
and the exodus uptown by foot and motorcar 
looked more like war than anything i've seen so far 
so far 
so far 
so fierce and ingenious 
a poetic specter so far gone 
that every jackass newscaster was struck dumb and stumbling 
over 'oh my god' and 'this is unbelievable' and on and on 
and i'll tell you what, while we're at it 
you can keep the pentagon 
keep the propaganda 
keep each and every tv 
that's been trying to convince me 
to participate 
in some prep school punk's plan to perpetuate retribution 
perpetuate retribution 
even as the blue toxic smoke of our lesson in retribution 
is still hanging in the air 
and there's ash on our shoes 
and there's ash in our hair 
and there's a fine silt on every mantle 
from hell's kitchen to brooklyn 
and the streets are full of stories 
sudden twists and near misses 
and soon every open bar is crammed to the rafters 
with tales of narrowly averted disasters 
and the whiskey is flowin 
like never before 
as all over the country 
folks just shake their heads 
and pour 

so here's a toast to all the folks who live in palestine 
afghanistan 
iraq 

el salvador 

here's a toast to the folks living on the pine ridge reservation 
under the stone cold gaze of mt. rushmore 

here's a toast to all those nurses and doctors 
who daily provide women with a choice 
who stand down a threat the size of oklahoma city 
just to listen to a young woman's voice 

here's a toast to all the folks on death row right now 
awaiting the executioner's guillotine 
who are shackled there with dread and can only escape into their heads 
to find peace in the form of a dream 

cuz take away our playstations 
and we are a third world nation 
under the thumb of some blue blood royal son 
who stole the oval office and that phony election 
i mean 
it don't take a weatherman 
to look around and see the weather 
jeb said he'd deliver florida, folks 
and boy did he ever 

and we hold these truths to be self evident: 
#1 george w. bush is not president 
#2 america is not a true democracy 
#3 the media is not fooling me 
cuz i am a poem heeding hyper-distillation 
i've got no room for a lie so verbose 
i'm looking out over my whole human family 
and i'm raising my glass in a toast 

here's to our last drink of fossil fuels 
let us vow to get off of this sauce 
shoo away the swarms of commuter planes 
and find that train ticket we lost 
cuz once upon a time the line followed the river 
and peeked into all the backyards 
and the laundry was waving 
the graffiti was teasing us 
from brick walls and bridges 
we were rolling over ridges 
through valleys 
under stars 
i dream of touring like duke ellington 
in my own railroad car 
i dream of waiting on the tall blonde wooden benches 
in a grand station aglow with grace 
and then standing out on the platform 
and feeling the air on my face 

give back the night its distant whistle 
give the darkness back its soul 
give the big oil companies the finger finally 
and relearn how to rock-n-roll 
yes, the lessons are all around us and a change is waiting there 
so it's time to pick through the rubble, clean the streets 
and clear the air 
get our government to pull its big dick out of the sand 
of someone else's desert 
put it back in its pants 
and quit the hypocritical chants of 
freedom forever 

cuz when one lone phone rang 
in two thousand and one 
at ten after nine 
on nine one one 
which is the number we all called 
when that lone phone rang right off the wall 
right off our desk and down the long hall 
down the long stairs 
in a building so tall 
that the whole world turned 
just to watch it fall 



and while we're at it 
remember the first time around? 
the bomb? 
the ryder truck? 
the parking garage? 
the princess that didn't even feel the pea? 
remember joking around in our apartment on avenue D? 

can you imagine how many paper coffee cups would have to change their design 
following a fantastical reversal of the new york skyline?! 

it was a joke, of course 
it was a joke 
at the time 
and that was just a few years ago 
so let the record show 
that the FBI was all over that case 
that the plot was obvious and in everybody's face 
and scoping that scene 
religiously 
the CIA 
or is it KGB? 
committing countless crimes against humanity 
with this kind of eventuality 
as its excuse 
for abuse after expensive abuse 
and it didn't have a clue 
look, another window to see through 
way up here 
on the 104th floor 
look 
another key 
another door 
10% literal 
90% metaphor 
3000 some poems disguised as people 
on an almost too perfect day 
should be more than pawns 
in some asshole's passion play 
so now it's your job 
and it's my job 
to make it that way 
to make sure they didn't die in vain 
sshhhhhh.... 
baby listen 
hear the train? 

There is a voice inside of you
That whispers all day long,
"I feel that this is right for me,
I know that this is wrong."
No teacher, preacher, parent, friend
Or wise man can decide
What's right for you--just listen to
The voice that speaks inside.

No longer will I sit in silent anticipation of your violent withdrawl.
No longer can you stay, polluting the delicate fauna that is me.
No longer should I masque myself in fear, my longing a shroud for pasquinade.
No longer have I desired that you leave to return to find I have left.
No longer can you the guilty summon trial and be a jury without conviction.
No longer will I hurriedly silence my own voice to give regard nor respect
          nor acknowledgement to your tumultuous blast of vacuous lies.

No longer will I hold these truths to me, that, for you, my once loved:
Just because I understand doesn't mean I care. Just because we talk doesn't
mean that we are friends. Just because you still breathe doesn't mean my
plans have changed. Primarily, my once loved, never forget me in this:
I have showed you the greatest bliss a mortal can taste, and the truest ardor
given to this realm. From the unarmed purity it ran; Never forget, as you
were the one. With these wings, it will be 1,000 times easier to destroy.

I want to teach you how to leap over a fast moving car.
I want to teach you how to get stuck in a window twenty floors up,
half in, half out.
I want to teach you how to write my name with chalk on the
sidewalk
in front of your house.
I want to teach you how to smack my face when I'm bad.

OH THERE'S SO MUCH TO TEACH YOU!

I want to teach you how to drink a lot of coffee and not freak out.
I want to teach you how to go to Coney Island all by yourself.
I want to teach you how to dump oatmeal on your
Grandma's bed.
I want to teach you how to load a gun with your teeth.

DO NOT PANIC!

I want to teach you how to get your penis caught
in a vacuum cleaner hose.
Can you turn on a faucet with your ass?
Well today I'm going to show you how.
I want to teach you all about horror and jubilation.
I want to teach you all about panic.

BUT PLEASE, DON'T PANIC YET!

I want to teach you how to tongue kiss a priest
through the confessional screen.
I want to teach you how to joyously slap someone on the back
until their nose begins to bleed.
I want to teach you that a paper towel cylinder is not a sex tool
even if it's full of vaseline.
I want to teach you that a jack ass shall not have a better
car than someone who is really popular.

LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TEACHING YOU!

I want to teach you all about wonderful holiday rituals.
I want to teach you how to maintain a look of total surprise
as you vomit on your step-mother's lap.
I want to teach you how to stick a dead fish
in the ventilation system of your place of employment.
I want to teach you how to bob for fruit in a bucket of honey.

GET READY TO LEARN!

You will smile at me between courses at dinner.
You will stroke your ankle against mine when I'm discussing politics with the
    family.
You will lick away the last traces of dessert from your mouth and never take
    your eyes off me.
You will ask if I know what you're thinking and I will just breathe silently.
You will caress my wrists in the kitchen as I rinse the glasses in warm water.
You will stand behind me, your breath warm on my neck, my ears.
You will slip out when the others go into the living room for coffee and I
    will follow you.
You will clasp me in the yard underneath a tree, with fall air falling on us.
You will sweep in my trembles and brush in my heartbeat.
You will sniff hungrily at me and slide your hands under my sweater, blouse,
    bra to skin and me.
You will gather me in to you and your mouth will wet and bite me like fruit.
You will murmur and moan and pull me pull me pull me to you under the
    night sky.
You will shift me down to the cold grass and I will never once think that this
    is wrong, that I am your sister and you cannot have me this way.
You will not utter a word and when you are done you will lay beside me
    and wrap me in a deep blanket of stars.

I am washed alone on the damp and evil beach of life. My head lays on the sand of eternity. The cold, windy chill of morning awakens my drifting mind. I open my eyes to the harsh reality of a multitude of delusions. I do not feel safe, in fact I feel harmed and betrayed as if some higher being is planning out the devastating climax to my young, saddened self. I am merely a shadow of this worlds sick adaptation.

I force myself to stand, feeling a rush of demented darkness. I am blind. I cannot see anything, the world is a blur and I am darkness. I feel reminded of all the pain and suffering in my life. I come to the conclusion that love is the biggest lie forced upon me by some so-called righteous being. Love should be the biggest sin of all. For all love has even been is nothing but hate and unhappiness to me.

But I shall not give in. Never will I let myself stop breathing. I shall fight the evil mean with their ignorant and moronic beliefs. I shall not take, give, or recieve pity. I will stand alone. I will take each breathe without dignity and pride, but only with the awareness of overly glorified Gods and beastly beasts. To me, that is all this world consists of. And when my soul shall have the honor of leaving my dull lifeless body, then will I except the burdens put upon me. In my true form, a soul of the future, a princess of darkness...I will decipher the codes of mankind and have proof of what I already know - the world is dead and every living thing in it, is dying.

Time, space
my enemy-friends
working to prevent (help)
life from taking its course

Time is always off
making what seems right, true
impossible to conceive of

Time heals pain
keeps me from drowning
keeps me sane

Space keeps me far
from who I love (could)
prevents closeness between friends

Space keeps distance
to prevent hurt from being
possible between (among) the beloved.

My heart is buried in thickets of scarlet twigs,
Disheartened blindly like an elderly man
Unable to reach the light dangling in his face
The world is a cruel place for those untouched by love,
Like a bottomless pit there is no end to this laughing sadness
What I am looking for is thorny to find,
It is best to walk blindly but not straight ahead
I will not find destiny by searching,
For destiny is like true love;
A buried treasure is meant to be stumbled upon

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes, we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

I have been one aquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.

I have passed by the watchman on his beat
and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of
feet, when far away an interrupted cry came o'er
houses from another street.
But not to call me back or say Good-Bye.

When further, still, at an unearthly height
one luminary clock against the sky proclaimed
that time was neither wrong nor right.

I have been one aquainted with the night.

Should lanterns shine, the holy face,
Caught in an octagon of unaccustomed light,
Would wither up, an any boy of love
Look twice before he fell from grace.
The features in their private dark
Are formed of flesh, but let the false day come
And from her lips the faded pigments fall,
The mummy cloths expose an ancient breast.

I have been told to reason by the heart,
But heart, like head, leads helplessly;
I have been told to reason by the pulse,
And, when it quickens, alter the actions' pace
Till field and roof lie level and the same
So fast I move defying time, the quiet gentleman
Whose beard wags in Egyptian wind.

I have heard many years of telling,
And many years should see some change.

The ball I threw while playing in the park
Has not yet reached the ground.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, less, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I who am dead a thousand years,
And wrote this sweet archaic song,
Send you my words for messengers
The way I shall not pass along.

I care not if you bridge the seas,
Or ride secure the cruel sky,
Or build consummate palaces
Of metal or of masonry.

But have you wine and music still,
And statues and a bright-eyed love,
And foolish thoughts of good and ill,
And prayers to them who sit above?

How shall we conquer? Like a wind
That falls at eve our fancies blow,
And old Maeonides the blind
Said it three thousand years ago.

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
Student of our sweet English tongue,
Read out my words at night, alone:
I was a poet, I was young.

Since I can never see your face,
And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul though time and space
To greet you. You will understand.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total darkness sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.