because he's the same as me

because he's the same as me we can't look each other in the eye except on special occasions

and the zenith's absent shadow
is cast as light on stone
A Morphing Fog
In my name is the cotton ball cloud
mist and water, white in the sun,
electric tears and the cold sting of snow, melting
and sticking
casting a shadow of its shape in the
    light around the edges.
the same as me
and because i am the same as him
it is a morphing fog, this name
To Sleep
lifted up and off
and because we used to know each other so well
looking him in the eye is hard sometimes, because he sees the side
"I'll fold you a crane for smoother flight
Fortunewings melting in the sun"
I'm watching lightning stagger and skip across the ceiling
flashes of white light like cracks in the plaster,
dead poet's society
the outlet -
I'd like to be the first to stand on the desk,
when the time comes.

In the sanctuary
I can let the quiet rustle of trees
trick me into a warm, filling loneliness,
and let the cars rush by in the distance
                the black dots drift
                the TV's brightness
                the pepper shaker
[why are] FATHERS [so complicated]
- the words are like the shadows of dust mites
floating in a sunbeam escaped through a crack in the blinds
                            swallowing
                            Trade
                            Trade
                        an airplane-shaped hand
                    open except to forget about the door and
                    The Promise of Electricity

It's as if there's a disconnect somewhere,
between my soul
and the world outside
where the line is blurred
time lengthens
clearing's rolling skirts,
weed-woven pockets in the meadow's palm.

"all i have to do is stick my finger in
- i don't know why i haven't more often,
we folded ourselves into planes
and sent our fortunes sailing across the room."

Without the outlet, the hole in the wall filled with dust,
on my soul
to tell me that the sun rises,
and that it sets
into earth-bent grays
- from rosy dawns to sailors' delight,
red sun-life pours shadow through my soul
and in again,
as often as possible
that's what makes the electricity
fell out side windows, jumped
of their own accord rather than die in the flames.
no, it's more like completely reducing myself
rooted in the live dust of soil,
I am learning the sounds and patterns of the birds as they
swallow the yellow brick road.

It demands repetition -
in,
and out,
shadows ticking out the beats
like hands in the sand.

Swallow
swallow swallow, swallow swallow,
                shook the
                black dots
                from the top
                to the floor

and this vicarious life of ours
might never

the preconceived frown
is more than can be shouldered
on the wings of a book,
an ethereal passage
born of light and air
and the black dots of coarse spice.
"that's what i need but catharsis is never enough."

Paper dragons,
light themselves on fire.
more than a numbness.

and all that's left to do is drink
let the edges well up as you wait
to tell me when the sun rises
and when it will set

where the shadow falls
a sneeze - an explosion
- and the ground is peppered
Wax Paper Package

because he's the same as me,
that's why
deep
you drown in the digging
"IT'S RIGHT THERE"
because it is heavier in the mind
and even heavier in the eye

***************************************************
Sundial soul
I have a sundial on my heart
because he's the same as me
the slight frown
the electricity of a world i can only
                in such bursts.

because he is
it'd probably help me cry.

that he kept to the side
and i know, like me
he doubts
i have a sundial
that i have called a dragon
            The way of things.
            Sitting on a blanket
            lightning didn't.