and one for wonder woman

you were the wisest
and if you look at my responses
to the poems you put on your blog
in 2009
you will see that i was dumb back then
and have become a human
looking for other humans
having found them all in closets
trying on clothes that are pretty
but don't make them feel so

amory

petrichor morning
hope rising from the earth
in fresh spring clouds
while men spray
insecticide
to kill the things that bite
half of me
caught by all of you
the other half in bed all day
smelling the morning's rain
only vaguely aware
of atomized poison
in the next room
making love to the dawn of spring

in the mail

i cannot send you
my sunny day words
because every day
for you is sunny
and i am a jealous cat
perched on spring's ledge
taking swipes
at each passing day
as if it were a ball of yarn
(or more accurately, a mouse).

three dots

if i said

and you said

both of us love

other humans

i would wonder

and you would wonder

if both of us still love

each other

and i would wonder

if you were wondering

whether or not

i was happy loving

anyone aside from you.

spring, freezing

bringing in the last of the boxes
i moved with, ten months ago
nearly slipping on march ice
that threatens to make love to april
i uncover a few bottles of shampoo
that i bought on a shopping trip to a health food store
with my echoing wound of an ex-lover
in his dying GMC jimmy
one year back.
shampoo,
and an extra ratchet strap, still packaged
from a day when i searched forever
looking for a lost rope
to tie up a boat
that threatened to keep me and
my newest wound locked in harmony
for at least a few more hours.
eventually we bought a new one
and found the original exactly where we thought it had been
so i kept our purchase
and he took the old one all the way to california
where he unpacked his boxes quickly,
learned to say the word "home,"
scarred over more quickly than i,
and forgot about the march ice
that stubborn frost
that teaches who to make love to,
and how

mud season

my first home had a purple door

i left it first

but my parents 

left it more;

new shingles

painted trim

banished ghosts, nobody

will ever know 

how my sister flooded

the entire second floor

how my father severed

his hand 

pushing on a pane of glass

on my purple door

walking into mud season
(the wood was swollen)

and i am sitting here

behind a lover's purple door

the house is gone, and 

it is mud season

everything is melting

wood is unswelling

and the new owners

of my first house

will never know
the history of our love

things are no longer swollen

but they are warped

500 and 600

250 and 300
don't love me anymore
and neither do the birds or the bats
my guitar is a seagull so that, too,
stopped loving me by falling out of tune
the north pole doesn't want me
or i've smashed it to bits and moved on
run to the south pole with
a penguin sweater
that the spirits don't recognize
or compliment me for
i make love to 250 and 300
so diligently
swallow like a good boy does
but they laugh and leave me empty
wondering if all i need is a vaster love

not knowing

not knowing you
only the comfort of your hands
and its coincidence with the easing
of this abominable winter
there is really nothing to do
but pretend that i am the praying type
and offer that in place of
the things that godless folk give
when they are feeling empty;
when they need desperately
for someone else
to be full.