Two Poems

Untitled

I begin,
in 4/4,
with preliminary
justification.
I need asylum.

Insanity,
rest assured,
is becoming
reality.
I need to be freed.

I laugh and cry
in alternate timing
switch
from talking to miming
to myself.
I pace the floors in parallel.

Never before
have I
been so disarmed
at such an alarming pace.
I am not cut out for this world.

I step in and I step out,
doorbell rings,
smoking cigarettes
staring at your picket fence
from two blocks away.
I need evaluation.


Could Be, Is

I look to you for an answer;
seldom will I try and hide my pride.
Far inside me is buried a love for you;
to be indifferent I would have to deny
the
questions with tissues between my knees,
but quietly I'm retracing my steps.
Your beauty do I stand and proclaim to windows;
"I am only a man," I confess.

Which one of us
more tortured
moves forward?

To which loves of ours,
by design
will we resign?

I choose to walk away from the cage;
I spit at the notions and rules of our kind.
Which man is perfect to your mind's eye?
Or which man will love you for all time, undying?
It isn't
a burden of empirical bliss;
for to be mine is freedom.
This heart is for you to kiss.
It could be, it is.

Which one of us,
with humble stance,
extends the first hand?

Let it be the both of us,
in darkest night
take to flight.