Androgenous

now that i am vulnerable to you
be to me as you would your father to be to your mother
or would a man to be to your reighteous sister-
so strong and quiet with breath that laughs from the peace of the earth,
fearless with life from the joyous water.

be to me not as you would to an extension of yourself
for i know the way you hurt yourself
and i could not bear the pain of being part of you.

The city in which I live but don't call home

i open up my i's and i'm on the sidewalk
humble peasant of the concrete.
never seen the sun or the trees but i can feel them.
never heard the dewdrops evaporating in the early morning sun
but i can feel them,
and a word appears in my ear that the theatre's been shut down-
no monday movies or evening shows or other excuses to wear the nice fedora that hangs too often on the hatrack.

i open my mouth. do i have a voice?
it falls into the snow-filled valleys on the side of the street-
places-
trenches, wars, i fought alligators,
now the monster sleeps, under snowhills
that the plow makes steep
and the theatre is shut down,
snow covers the ground.

there were angels here once. with honey in their tongues
to make love with their fingers to the canvas of the air
painting colors into dreams and patterns into seams
with tiny feet they scurried away fast as they could
when the going got good.

this city got so big we can't fit our arms around it.
maybe if all five-hundred thousand of us joined hands we could do it,
but one's got the fever and one's got no money
and most of them wouldn't get around to it.

i re-close my eyes and see exactly what i saw when they were open -
reflections of light, and memories of mine.



i can navigate these streets with closed eyes using memories of mine,
but one day memories won't be enough.

the pictures will fade and the landscape will change
and be reframed-
and then who will lead? man or machine?
walk with me, for i am blind.

one day you too may close your eyes
and walk on memories.

soon equalities will equalize and
all the hatreds will subside and
our fires will be drenched in ice
faces frozen in positions last. flowers from the hearts are passed,
through snakes in tunnels/mouth to ear
sometimes too loud to hear.

and how will we face the things to come?
back to back will we link arms?
be my cane, i'll be your mountain
and we'll find the summer at the summit,
somewhat.

Whisper-shouting

The city is making me quiet.
I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not a dream.