Her Genius

We are all our own genius

aren’t we? Self-help tells us

to be selfless while the world

tells us to be tough

slowly, gradually

like a surgeon’s steel

picking apart pieces

of our sanity like a game

of Operation. We are all

children at heart, aren’t we?

When our nose’s glow red

and hairs stand on end

while our souls ignite like kerosene

flailing our arms in ecstasy

remembering the truth which

from birth was wiped clean

like a board of chalk.

We’re always trying to get that

message back, that message which

in a world or man and steel and greed

can only exist as long as love at first sight

where in the morning she lay

soundlessly asleep bound to no one

her genius in my memory forever.

bits of lives

We are built up of

so many different lives.

Like thieves in the night

we steal bits without telling

those we’ve robbed.

How curious it is that those bits

would be so conveniently

left out for our taking.

How awfully clever too.

Those who speak of love.


of those

who, so often


of love,


not to

get too involved


their plight,

chances are

there is someone


and you

just might be

picking up the pieces,

because Love

too often

is mistaken for


but they

won’t see that,

they can not

see so well through the fire

the mystery

of the heart,

the failure

of the brain,

at face value, yes

they may seem true

but beware

the unhinged


they know

what they’re selling

but not so much

what to do after they’ve made the sale,

yak-yakkity yakking

their pattern back

to heartache.