"Wake Up, Mr. West...."

"Known to some as 25, others as Mr. West" 

poem for him

stump a poet with a poem
in order to make him write
love songs
when his lungs have become
too frail
for his wail
breathe ink into his pencils
make permanent
what has seemed so temporary:
the outline of anything
that would hold his body
better than pillows have held him
or his longing(s)

hold up these insecurities
in stanzas.
they, unlike mirrors,
reveal tears he cannot cry
break any delusions
that he is getting his best
with evidence
that he could be loved better
held closer
holding himself well enough
to accept
nothing less
than the fullness he dreams
should be in his arms
tonight

offer a he-art
as poetic as the crumple
between one fold
and the next poem
the next reading
the next possibility
of dreams coming true

pen the actuality
of his being loved
truly
so much that touch
happens between letters
impresses itself in the breaks
between breaths
when his own words
fail to resolve
his readiness to be loved
right now

held by more
than just your song for him
held like a pen
hungry for paper
or light
that never burns out
help him through moments
when dreams are written
in the thick of dark
in the density of lonely nights
when he cannot pretend
pillow fluffing
the shape of his cuddle
is sufficient

supplement his void
with comfort-words
so perfect
he will edit his next poems
more carefully
than he has offered his heart

and after you have echoed
his next breath
the only reply
he can muster
may be silence
but he is so grateful
for the offering
of poetry
for him

stump a poet with a poem
in order to make him write
love songs
and he will find the courage
to sing again

Happy Valentines Day (I guess)...

hmmmm. I've enjoyed the chocolate and reminding people that I love them. I suppose this day forces it, forces one to remember the necessity or hearing that you're loved, the value of saying it, the crude inadequacy of its devaluation most other days of the year... a few times I wanted to say "bah humbug"... but remembered that's another grossly commodified holiday. Maybe i got bit by the valentines bugg. Maybe this is one of the few times that I'm actually pretty optimistic about doing it right.

hey... i'm gushy all the time. when I'm not playful or silly, I'm not at my best. So I've been soaking up a lot these days: gaining some perspective on what it means to love patiently, some insight on some of my baggage, and more hopefullness that something magical is not just due me, but evidenced in ways I sometimes fail to see.

I've got great loving friends. I heard from ButtaFlySoul and Solas (two of my homies from DDC). They both offered bear huggs, though through voicemail songs and text messages. If I ever lose sight of how graciously them fools love me, I need to be slapped. "sometimes my focus is so locus I'm loco", I have said.

and yeah... I enjoyed a weekend getaway with my sweetie, and he even offered a hugg and kiss today. And a few other people (among them strangers) somehow found the need to tell me that I'm half-cute. One was a crack-head starbucks woman who I graciously referred to as the official starbucks hostess, to which she replied: "so why I gotta be the starbucks hoe,.... wit'sho phyne seff". "but I said hostess".... I then corrected.... after which she whispered: "i know... i just dropped the "stess" to see what you'd say". Gosh, I really needed that...

i suppose life is pretty good. (and that tomorrow, or the next day, when I forget that, I'll have this damn blog to read).