Dedication for a New Notebook

May the words
Pen to page
Be sharp in spirit,
Keen in edge.
Let them stay,
Not in some vague grasp at eternity,
But like leaves in autumn or
Flowers in spring give them
Their flash of glory.
Keep my tongue honest,
My heart alive,
Keep my eyes seeking the beauty in life.
Let me sing in sorrow, but also in joy;
Let the words be communion, church,
Community-forming and yet, if it be my place,
The double-edged sword.

Drop your words on my tongue,
Let me swallow them that
This ink will be my blood.
Curb my vanity, hone my craft,
I ask, but if you must take all else,
Teach me to love.

Passing

Wheels turning clockwork
Trying to keep keep up with the
Spinning spinning car tires the passing passing
Street signs
Cruise control
Constant stress
Trying to hold the fall apart in
But you need it,
You need the slow spinning
Street-dancing wet eyes
Unwind
Oh water, come in,
Water drown drown this
Mechanical breath the tick tick tick
To-do list train tyranny
That turns the stomach acid
Leaves that death in your mouth
And your head with that
"Who am I now?"
Help me to die,
Help, help me.

There's a cardinal on the wing
I hear his spirit beckoning
But don't see
Far too busy flapping flapping
Tongues and paged itineraries
To ever take wing
My heart is mockingbirding me
Singing the songs of concrete
The blues of lonely streets
I am a sign on the LA freeway
Everyone passing a stick man in a
Lexus cage hoping for crash or
Some community
Bumper to bumper and
I seem out of step
Asked you to dance long after the fact
No place to get a waltz in edgeways
Even in passing
Passing cathedrals, crossing
Passing through waters, dying
Passing, last rights, hail Marys
I am a wide receiver staring
Into the lights of
Space looking for spark
And new pace
Something more like the beat beat
Of growing grass or rocky streams
A steady pulse, a metronome
Of synchronicity.

Bread-winner

I'll be your old bread-winner
If you'll be my stepford wife
I'll go out and make-a-da money
Even wear a suit and tie
Long as you're there waiting
Barefoot with a pie
Oh I'll be your old bread-winner
If you'll be my stepford wife

I'll check all my opinions
At the altar, just to be safe
I'll pretend I don't have insecurities,
Who knows? I might even shave!
I'll be your DiCaprio
I'll work out five times a day
I'll be your Superman
If you'll be my playboy playmate

I'll go through all the motions
Just to make you feel okay
Buy you blood diamonds, kitchen towels,
And chocolate made by slaves
I'll be upstanding, play the game
Cross my fork right on my plate
I'll watch crappy chick romances
So you can feel escape.
I'll go to the oxygen bar,
Just in hopes that I could breathe.

If clichés are romantic,
You should dye your hair to blond.
Change your name to Jessica
And you can call me Bond.
I certainly wouldn't like you,
Might not even recognize you,
Oh I'll be everything you wanted,
When pigs fly out of the sun.

I guess if we're being honest
Commitment and tradition scare me
I'm afraid you'll be a boulder
Crashing right through my sails
I'm not saying that settling down
Doesn't sound alright with me
But picket fences don't serve no purpose
And I won't buy you a diamond ring.

But I'll be your background singer,
Your dear and closest friend
I'll take you on adventures,
When you're scared I'll hold your hand
I'll step on toes, make you angry,
Make you happy, make you sad,
And when the bananas go black,
I will make banana bread.