The Farm ...

A chicken turns-head and looks at me sideways.

A feral cat looks me dead on.

A lady on the farm looks softly around me,

As though I were already gone.

If I linger long enough, she'll start smiling,

Lift a still-warm brown egg off the straw,

And cook it on cast iron for me—like that's normal,

The magical thing I just saw:

That her hands pull from earth bits of living

That she nurses, and could eat between rows, years of days.

That her odor is earth—I step back, overwhelmed.

She says, “G'night,” through her hair; through the back of her head,

                                                      still her gaze.

The Mouse with Cat's Eyes ...

Your emotions trade like currency,

spreading through colleagues' faces.

     Your language plays like math

inside my clear, rational head:

I'll hear the doctors insult me—

“Sick-soul” is the meaning of psychopath—

but their words won't hurt. How is that

“sick”? And not “powerful” instead?

                                                                               * 

I was born in a world of bias,

with dictionaries written

     by people who twitched in recoil

at “Corpse”—the mere word—and

Grinned dumbly, glazed-eyed,

at “Kitten.” Simple to foil

such heart-felt minds, when cool flesh

and warm purrs feel equal in my hand.

                                                                                             *

You call mine “sick,” for it's more than yours.

Your motive shows; your guilty will.

     You justified that gorilla in our zoo

by telling your children “This welded hole—

fake wild—is better than the chaos in

Africa; it's kindness.” But I see through:

The gorilla loses, despite power-in-arms,

for his disposition to accept, and not control.

                                                                                         *

You also accept too much, your nostalgic eyes

Gluing small-town names on a steel high-rise.

     You'll cash in others' feelings even if they break

your senses; that's how little pages of lies,

still photos of wet eyelids, brief shouts of despair

crumble strong knees and pull genius souls to take

their own, willing lives. Your strength for nothing, when

feelings paralyze limbs while an unfeeling fire rages.

                                                                                   *

So I am, in flesh, a human being.

Same in geography, same in strength,

     same in size.

But where most were born with a guilt-cluttered soul,

I'm a god beyond that preying nest;

a mouse with cat's eyes.

Remembering senses at a distance ...

Starts with an old picture,

where you look 

so happy with me;

where we    

                           look so happy.

Next                  

        it's a few videos I shot,

             where I can 

             smell your perfume           

                                                                 and

                                                                   sawdust, 

just seeing that dress.

Then 

                    it's 

                      every 

              photo 

                      I can

              find, 

                                              and 

                                                    all 

                                            the 

                                              songs 

                                                  I saved; 

                                        that I

                  only sing now 

                                      thinking of you.

And then—

                                 I haven't let a tear slide

since I let go your shoulder. 

                                                  My eyelids

                                  glide wet, 

                                        almost spill, 

then dry again.

Some nights, 

I wish 

I knew

that calling you 

would end 

happily.

Still, 

I imagine us perfect.

Simply, Only (post-Shelley)...

"This is why I don’t like Shelley’s poems…

I’m not going to hold my happiness hostage 

to ransom from you a kiss.

I’ll still drink deep every star-sky, fresh spring, 

and cat purr in your absence…

It’s simply you, and only you—

every part of you—I’d miss.”

                   - Josh D. Kuntzman

Come down (song) ...

A hundred 

    thousand lonely

              men & women

     hold themselves       back

           looking for life commitment:

self-inflicting                  pain and torment;

don'tcha know                     a happy life's made

                          of a 

                               hundred-

                                     thousand-

                                              million 

                                           brief moments?...

Come do-own, my baby,

Underneath the table: just

kiss me in the morning and

call me      if you're able.

                                  Wanting passion,

                                           she swoons for brawlers;

                                Wanting brilliance,

                                                    this one settles for dollars.

                            Wanting connection,

                                                                he settles for handsome;

                     Wanting commitment,

                                                                          this one 

                                                                                takes a 

                                                                          hand for 

                                                                    ransom...

But rings mean nothing!

Come make a moment holy,

and it will last a lifetime, while

vows—are broken slowly.

Yours, ours, mine, - - - - all on a pin:

          that rushing tip of time - - - - 

                              - - - Childhood drawings and aching teen crushes,

              seem laughable now - - - - 

                             - - - Metals to rust and crystals to dust:

          we all buckle and bow - - - - 

                             - - - Growing, shedding; absorbing, forgetting—

                  I ate my old skin: - - - -

                            - - - Our joys live and die. Our joys live and die,

       at the moment we're in. - - - - 

(So Come do-own, my baby,

underneath the table...)

       Over-thinking,

      under-doing?

                                       Leads a virgin

                                           mind to ruin.

Overdoing,

 under-thinking?

                                     Can lead a fool to

                           wisdom in a blink—So

Come do-own, my baby,

underneath the table:

just kiss me in the morning and

call me     

                      if you're able.

                              When I say 'able,'

                   what I mean is

             there's no need to

lifetime-guarantee this:

A thousand years of

faithful service—

done as habit?—

is still shallow, 

                cold, 

                 and 

             worthless.

Your word's as good

as the passion that it's based in.

Be with me, 

           fully, 

           here and now:         that is dedication.

                        - - - - love is not! 

                                              - - - - right/wrong! - - 

                       just profound! - - - -

                                                - - below the! 

                          - - scales, so! - - 

                                                 come down! - - - -

            Watch my fingers,

         as they feel your arm bend;

       touch my low back,

      as I breathe your cheek in;

       taste my lip's edge

         as I hear your throat hum:

            fill my senses

                as yours, 

                          too, 

                             overflow. 

                             Come—

Come doown, 

                       my baby,

                                  Our borderline's 

                                                  a fable.

Come feel 

   your heart 

        beat 

through 

my chest,

            underneath the table.