Enough

half mast flag today
can’t recall which one it’s for
something has to change

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Falling Star

Just as this bed faces the window now,
just like we turn toward the night
where lace curtains hang like they’ve always hung
since people first learned how to hide.

Just like I want to turn toward you,
or how sometimes I might go inside
when you get home so late and I’m looking away,
still the words that you say, and the way that you say,

and the hands that you lay, the space just melts away.

Look how it’s all been forgotten,
how we all forgot something again,
we are trying to grow up and we’re trying to grow old,
and we find ourselves right where we’ve been

before, there were so many answers
from the suit men erupting like fires,
so we stand in the face of the answer man
and the smoke and the jokes and the liars,

and the forests are burning like pyres.

Just as I need to turn toward you now,
just like your arms hold me tight,
and we make a new verse to replace this old curse
for the poets who’ve shown us the light.

See how I’m learning the same thing again,
and this might always be how it goes,
so we do it all over, except this time it’s better,
and the night comes again, and the light comes again,

thought I’d walked through this door, then discover there’s more.

In a moment last night, in the dust of a dream,
a vision through half sleepy eyes,
but real as the truth, or the words that you say,
or the voices of those who will rise.

With love on our side, between curtains flung wide,
a star cuts the sky like a knife
with a trail so bright it erases the night
as the mountain erupts like a fire,

and the heat of it burns like a choir.

Under the Sky

News drops like a rain,
like autumn’s last leaves
coming down on the roof.
They do not stop, these
moments of revelation,
the good ones, and the
hard ones, too.

The sky changes all day,
where once there was light,
now there is shadow,
warmth before and now
we reach for blankets
and for one another,
which is to say

let’s do this together.

Peek-A-Boo

It matters what you say.
It matters what you do

and how you vote, and it
matters when you look

away.  Remember the game
we played as children?  We

covered our faces and closed
our eyes and knew

that we were hidden
from view.  Peek-a-boo.

But here’s the thing,
white men in the dark

suits, your marble hall,
your fleeting fame,

this is not a game,
we see you still, even

as you hide behind
your own hardened masks.