What I Can Do Jon Hillenbrand, October 29, 2011December 30, 2015 If you are too weak to walk, I’ll lift you on my shoulders. If you are too tired to laugh, I’ll sing you to sleep. If you are scared of your nightmares, I’ll conquor your demons. If you are hungry for contact, I’ll fill you with love. If your shoulders are shaking, my coat will fit you. If you’re longing for feedback, I was raised by a mom and two sisters. If you want to have fun at a car show, I can usually tell when my river of information has crested. If your knees are two wind-bent willows, I can be your oak. If you are too drunk to lay your head down anywhere except the toilet seat, I’ll still love and respect you in the morning. If you were hurt in the past, hey, so was I. If you want all of these things or none of them, I’ll understand. If you cry out at the injustice of the world, I’ll be your wailing wall. If you take up arms, I’ll be your muscle. If you make a big deal out of it all and beat my chest with your arms, I’ll take it with patience. This I can do for you because my love feeds off of your love like two wildfires taking back settled land. This I can do for you because I believe in something larger than what is in front of us at this moment. This I can do for us because we is the stronger form of you and me. Poetry dedicationloveman vs. guyphotography
Poetry Blessed and Damned October 19, 2008December 30, 2015 I am a luminous being. Look into my tomb and you will see my outline visible as though looking through a veil of cheesecloth. My identity is not the product of man-made fallibility. I have been illuminated by brilliant shafts of light cast about from many sources. That is why… Read More
Poetry Smear July 1, 2012December 30, 2015 I wouldn’t change a thing about you. It would change the skipping of the record and labotomize us both…then we could share an IV bottle together, honey nectar for veinous rivers. Path forward, through the universes, chopping with my fingers through the literal weeds. You’re a sunlit green and black… Read More
Poetry The Doorway October 21, 2008December 30, 2015 The door banged open dustily halting the men’s filthy conversation. She paused there in the opening, a sudden wind taking its cue to wrap around her silken form. Red swollen lips threw daggers at the men. Her word leveled with the finality of a commandment, a gale force whisper, the… Read More