You Are Beautiful

Your hair, like threads of gold
     so long and fair.

Your lips caress each word
     that from them slips
     and pour forth laughter in a song
     and I can’t help but sing along.

Your eyes—regardless of
     how hard I try
     I can’t forget them shining bright
     and I rejoice at every sight.

Distracted

You say I’m easily distracted—
That’s not exactly true.
I am distracted quite a bit,
But mostly just by you.

Uplifting

On a crowded elevator, going up,
A girl stood next to me.
Now done with a run and dripping with sweat,
I probably smelled like pee.

It chanced on our rise, that the box emptied out,
So the two of us were alone.
I stepped away to pardon her nose
From my naturally scented cologne.

So I moved a few feet and apologized.
“Oh I can’t smell,” she said, unsure.
Then added, “Not now,” which was equally odd,
And I can’t say I understood her.

An awkward silence followed till
We reached her floor and said adieu.
I took this encounter as a welcome sign
That girls get flustered too.

I Hate Whitman

I dedicate this poem to Walt Whitman and his unique style; that is, tasteless, talentless, and totally terrible.

The dirt sinks lustily beneath my feet—
This ground is America!
I too am America and this ground is mine and I am this ground.

I see a bird above my head—
This bird is America!
And by the transitive property we can conclude that I am this bird.

A single branch hangs low from an evergreen tree
And blocks my path along the road
Two pine cones hang from the root of this branch
Like genitals swaying gently in the wind
I too am these genitals as surely as they are also America.

Incentive

There are words in my head that have yet to be formed,
And lines that are begging to take shape.
They are kept unread in the vault of my mind
Just waiting, waiting to escape.

They long for a thief to steal my heart,
And, for love's sake, to set them free.
It would unleash, as yet unseen,
A prison-break of poetry.

Phlegm

I cough it up and swish it 'round,

Then spit it out or gulp it down.

Such joy I feel to clear my throat

When mucus all my airways coat.

There's beauty in each little piece,

My body's lubricant and grease.

I wrote this poem some time ago and just now rediscovered it. It's one of my more inspired works.

I had a cupcake

I had a cupcake, would you know,
And felt I’d found my purpose —
The care with which it had been baked,
Impossible to miss.

I know not how to make a cake,
But now it matters not,
For once I tasted cake like this,
No other have I sought.

Incredible, this state of bliss,
That leaves me wanting naught.
My joy can hardly help but show.
That really hit the spot!