"Afternoon: a moment untainted"
Love is real:
It opens to the world, unwittingly, like a dead fume,
And wanders into things, becoming alive.
It lives in colors and visions,
And breathes in the breeze and fog;
It sings from the sidewalks
And to the lifeless rooms:
It simmers in the ponds and puddles,
And wonderfully wreaks of everything living;
It gives wonder to the masses,
But is given nothing but definition by
The some who declare power:
They stamp it with a label,
Personify it in a rare, boxed flower,
And give it an age and a limit,
And claim an ownership
(But I see love in wildflowers and dirt,
In magnolia leaves and ugly branches,
In ponds and algae,
In eyes and words and falling walls).
"Night: wondering vastly, feeling so alone"
The black wind will breathe in my ears
In an imaginative time.
Stars and barely seen, dead, fallen leaves
Will compose the collage:
Tonight’s living art; life will live with
Its eternal violence.
I will sit and think of this violence and
Its companion, the
Passion which drives us wild and mad,
And the awfulness which
Too often paints our surroundings.
I will react: I will want to toss my inhibitions
In favor of
Running wildly screaming to everyone about how
This utter lack of relief.
But a wildflower, alone in the sidewalk crack
Will show me the
Wonderful power of beauty, in levels of
Ending the confusion of Everything.
"Morning: feeling randomly good."
The world may not be awake,
But I am in so many ways
With a little bit of