because i am a goat

i want to walk in trees and say pretty things

with a curly haired dream. i want to take photos

of allie in paris and pictures of sidewalk cracks too.

i want to hop on a train to dijon. i want to speak

different languages and lay my body down on the

floor. i want to practice pronunciation and rolling

my r's. i want to part my hair in a different place.

i want to be on the top of a mountain because i am

a goat. i want to see in black and white and hear

stories from an old woman. i want to collect jewels

for my fingers and braids for my hair. i want to blink

almond eyes and see my love come to visit me. i want

to dance with wild abandon. laugh hysterically. wear

paint on my sun-tanned shoulders, and on my fingernails.

i want to buy a one-way ticket. i want to buy school supplies

and i want to go to school. i want to get a tattoo with my

best friends. i want to drink wine in napa. i want to make

little movies and just smile. i want a song named after me

and a poem named after you. i want to meet you in italy.

i want gelato right now. i want to feel the crackling wood

boards of a stage under my hands and my feet. i want to

feel the lights on me. i want to dip my feet in the backyard

pool. i want to listen to music with dad. i want to see my

nephew discover something new. i want to kiss. i want you

to hold me in the night. and in the morning too. and in the

morning too, i want you.

on the road

headin' north,

as usual.

i'm always headin'

north.

back to my home,

for some peace of

mind and i'm

prayin' and

hopin'

that peace will

surely come.

skip to my loux

i know why

she tells me she's been craving

maya and singing i know why

the caged bird sings

in a pretty cadence

like a flute in a song

and out all night

dancing the

samba

shoulders shaking

and sweating

and breathing

and a quarter

turn on the ball

of her pretty foot

lemonade on the empty half

of the room where i sleep

tonight, rubbing my

eyes, wishing i didn't

have to wake up

so early

wishing

i wasn't such a burden

on the people who

host me and

thinking,

thanks

goin' north, to my

childhood home

with three hopeful

thoughts and

singing

i know why the

caged bird sings

two weeks

& transfer

& forms

& trois

& chad

& heat

& thespian

& norway

& dad

and time yet for a hundred indecisions

and indeed there will be time
for the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
there will be time, there will be time
to prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
there will be time to murder and create,
and time for all the works and days of hands
that lift and drop a question on your plate;
time for you and time for me,
and time yet for a hundred indecisions,
and for a hundred visions and revisions,
before the taking of a toast and tea.

-t.s.eliot, from the love song of j.alfred prufrock

the breezes have been coming

pictures of poppies

the alone feeling

of being on the floor

of a dark night

in the middle of

the sidewalk

finger figures in

gravel dirt

of wrinkles on

knuckles as you

type

of an exhale

of eyelashes

looking up

of a lip being bit

like shutting a

screen door

of the vcr light

in the middle of

the night

a glass of water

left for days

the silent choice

of each's numbness

a hanky tucked

in pocket

cheeks that rest

lightly in small

comforts

like sandalwood

and remembered

pillows and a teddy

bear

and a song by

george harrison

and a book sent in

the mail by dad

of tomato soup and

the coming of autumn

the breezes have

been coming