love.

because structure is for the weak of heart:

they told me one time that we speak in iambic pentameter. the kids from my city, they'd say, like shakespeare? but we knew better. quick enough to pass judgment on the mornings that kept us alive and quiet enough to sneak through the nights that kept our blood...

well, i guess it was moving.
and that's what we were. cliche at best.
but you kept me moving, with the stories that
didn't make sense. you kept me moving.

it wasn't even a month later when i realize the truth.
everything was changing. i felt like i belonged in a dr. seuss book;
but they (the books) kept saying, "no, every writer's an alcoholic,
or maybe a meth head, or maybe a stoner"

but i operated off of
ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmm
ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmm
ooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmm

and the centering of my heart:
not like you, the center of my heart, because i have to be honest:
only i can hold that position.
someone conditioned me to be this way, or maybe it was the way it was meant.
as much as i love you i will always be the one to
break borrow steal hurt console heal my own heart.
i am the one in control -
and as such, i have the power to
succeed fail be mediocre love hurt feel be isolated -
because i am control of myself.

i need someone
as strong as i am
to stimulate my independent
heart.

hirundo rustica

it was sad to see them go.

their orange breasts peaked in the early morning hours
when they'd dive bomb passers with their eager chit-chit chit-chit-chit;
signaling warning signs that were mostly signs of defeat,
but we'd recognize their bravery anyway.

(it would remind me of you.
the one so eloquent in action that it'd be hard to see
from an outside perspective that the bravery inside you was the
reaction of earlier interactions gone astray.
you're so polite, baby, because they made you that way.
just like them you're brave.
you step forward and greet every day with that dimpled smile -
you floor me with it's ingenuity.)

by early june they'd be gone.
the nest, though empty, resonates with their call:
this time, not the warning of defeat, but of happiness.
the babies had safely left the nest in one way or another,
following along that path that makes every living thing every living thing.

and in the back of my mind, it might have been sad -
maybe for a moment or two, walking barefooted down that cement path.
only sad until i remembered, with all of a memory's glory:
they'll be back next year.