skid row

they don't stake their tents down
because, you know, its awfully hard
to stake a tent to dirty city sidewalks

some lay down under open night sky
in a pile of sleeping bags and
thin blankets that probably smell
like piss

and we drive by
holding each-others hands
and our full bellies
we are laughing
and talking and listening to music
and he is drinking a milkshake bigger
than my face
and he leans over and kisses me
with his vanilla lips

and I don't understand why
they are here
and not in bed

why didn't anyone say I love you
and mean it
and hold them to the ground
or lift them to the sky

why are they laying here

why can't they care
enough
to get the fuck up
to live

Ode to Yellow

Yellow

you are eggs
sunny-side up.
you giggle as I scoop you into
my open red mouth.

you are pollen, impregnating
flowers
that crawl across mountains
in wild bliss.

you, dear yellow, are the sun.

you are life.

you are the moon and the stars

you are this book that I am reading
that is telling me to write.
Write!
you are the highlighter
that I am marking it up
in--
line after line of
poignant thought.

yellow.
yell--oh.

when I close me eyes and imagine
what you must feel like
I can only think of the golden warmth
of spring
and I can only imagine that you taste
like bananas

and I am reminded of that banana tree
that use to grow behind
the apartment that I use to live in

and the walls there, that I painted
a golden hue

I am reminded, yellow, of the life that was held
within those walls

I am reminded of that life