Sadness Is a Pit.

The broken heart has beauty
That happiness consumes
And fragility that penetrates the bones.

An Update On Us, 2

Well, here we are: Exactly one year and two days in Chicago, one year and one month since Virginia, and two years, two and a half months of marriage. We have been good: museums of art and history and science and industry, zoos and beaches, plays and shows. All with friends and memories of smiles and laughter and mostly warm weather or freshly lain snow.

And we have been busy: busy eating up the remnants of summer, busy gritting my teeth against winter, busy laughing at Michael at how giddy he is for colder weather, and busy catching our breath between one visitor and the next. We have never felt so much love from Kansas and Texas and Virginia and Tennessee and Kentucky as we have from all the beloved that has come to spend time with us and give us all their well-wishes.

Michael has been recognized by theater critics, and I'm, again, recognizing that hard work usually equates in good grades and happy supervisors.

So, without too many specifics, we are good and busy. And we love our friends.
See you soon,

a

A Cheesy Poem, But For What It's Worth, Sincere.

Take my hand, we will drive for a while.
My love, (my love): your laughter, your strength, your smile.
Take this land, you're the new oath, religion.
And you're all, my love: your sweet coat of wisdom.
You're my new shade of love.
You're my blue cake of goodness.
Polystyrene cities hold nothing against us.
The sun (the misery) is light with our haughtiness.
Take these plans, they're the future for us.
For all the time we've had, we're the one-eyed light abyss.
Take mirrored fans; we'll reflect on those shunned
My dear friend, lover of this ship, sweet opinion
You're my bias of bliss, without which I'd sink through blue.
For my love, for my love. Is you.

Of All Careers, You Can't Just Jump Into Art.

Once was the heart of a poet's song,
And once was the wind of the flutist's song
Forever the mind of the 20's now,
And often the lime of the blue collar brow
For the sheen of twisted word
And for the seamless, lusted bird
She was the curt and culted third
Of a loving, forlorned throng.

Honesty

The pesty warrior chant,
Pestulant, penitant, pretention.
Take my mastication, it's pure, see.
And eyes' masturbation: it's sweet glee
(For someone.
Other than me.)

The cerebral exercise is a dulling fight,
If I work for my money as others think right,
If I don't barf emotion as every poet does,
If I don't fart contortion to see my problems.
For the tomb
Simplicity

Go mark your territory, claim it yours.
Mark the same for the soldier's war.
No. Mark your thoughts and hold them there:
Not high up but where your heart pumps hair
For a friend,
Possibly.

The Wheat of Tomorrow

Body butter and sweet merengue pie
Shake the dust off of lulled and sleeping thighs
Up through the heart and into the brain
Today's actions are memories' grain.