Speculative Smoking

wise men sit smoking dying,
on carolina porches while the sky falls
the night goes on schedule:
the stars come and go
the owls sing their sorrowful tales;
alas, the ash stings worn fingertips.

flick away, the butts will never fall into the sea,
that lies so close to home.
and it is wide, a wide, wide view of the ocean;
dimly lit by the moon.

tales of love, tales of leisure,
all fruitful stories caught by wooden roofs,
rich, smoky oak.

this is only the distance

from here to there,
and all around where men breathe air:
is something lost between those of us,
who love,
for we share a bond,
a common ground,
on which we can all lament the
evil and the hate and the famine
and the things that keep us from
here to there:

for love, this is only the distance that we share,
untill we have no common ground,
there can only be,
distance.

Soft Pillows

Falling asleep has never been so easy;
While on the softest pillows I lie,
Carried away by dream and lust,
I cannot stay awake
For what dreams come when
I lie on those pillows,
Are far sweeter then any
melody ever heard.

Might I again rest on those pillows,
those rosy, rosy red pillows,
and might I tease one more kiss?
Out of my dreamy pillows.

Powerouttage

high voltage voices
seem to power the house.

You Know Who You Are

time and time and time,
some ago,
we had so much to give;
and now, what now.
has time made us victims
of our own mistakes.

you are still milky sweet.
dare i repeat?

Good Night, Sweet Ladies

such kind and soft melodies
do you sing into my ear,
and while i could listen forever
that may seem a bit queer.
So i will dream the sweetest visions
of you,
and of you being ever so near,
so that instead of dreaming of your sleep,
i can lie close, and observe the moon,
and i can point it out and say,
"look at the stars and the sky"
and you will sleep still,
next to me.

On Having Given My Lecture

I am a teacher.