“Two Virtues”

in two virtues i take pride
(a kitchen knife and parricide)
the love of word and sweat of work
(they nearly never coincide)

though some may feel verbose at soul
(last july i lost control)
their fingers trip and poems die
(a menacing look, a dad on parole)

and yet the shovel plunges true
(this pencil now is blunt from use)
this callous fails to disappear
(i always tell myself the truth)

the poet’s hands are cocaine white
(i slept not at all last night)
their necks are slender wispy things
(i write by glow of candlelight)

Just like that.

my soul sits here impatiently
although! my mind it leaps outside
on fresh cut grass and cyan skies
i love you just like that, i think
like grass, like clouds,
a perfect picture perfect scene
words can never emulate
(i wont attempt)
but you fall in love with a thing like that
a moment when you are at peace
just an image–a photograph
you close your eyes, and it appears unasked
i close my heart, you keep coming back
i guess in you i’ll always have
a stubborn leak

just like that faucet in my dream–

though there is comfort in the sound;

that steady drip, it revives me.

it keeps me here.

it brings me peace.