.& THESE ARE SIMPLY SMALL PIECE-POEMS.
night is simple. night is wide open & black.
there is nothing compromising about the night.
everything that exists among the common daylight.
exists under the blanket of the deep dark of night.
though, there are elements of unimaginable truth & wonder.
amidst the lingering midnights of our understanding.
nothing to fear. for fear has no truth, & those expressions.
without truth do not (after all) exist, indeed.
simple is the night, wide open & black.
you called me a mad genius & swore we would stay in love until we die.
generating moments where my dreams were realities. once & never again.
she is doing it again. she is crying as she sings.
to me, there is nothing like it. nothing at all.
she is magic. so magic is filling the entire hall.
is there anything she cannot do? is there anything?
no one else is home. tonight, we could be making love.
if only she was still young & here in my bedroom.
sweat twinkling upon her lips & brow. even in the dark, she glows.
the others sway back & forth to the rhythm. they are leveling me.
these dames have not a single clue about what they are doing to us.
organ began. drums creep. repetition upon the guitars.
humming together for the sincerity & knowing it is true.
could it have come to this any other way? never. no.
she is a goddess. therefore, i will sleep at her feet like one.
nothing to do but dance. dance to young-never-again-tomorrows.
& when it is all over, we can die, & that will be just alright.
O i miss the nights when you would take black & white photos
of yourself wearing nothing but your skin, leaving prints of each one
scattered & hidden across your flat for me to find
like true love’s own romantically innocent scavenger hunt