bully

my dick at eastern cross

here

what is grace?
the skill, the wish
to hold another in your hand
a stranger, especially
when they show themselves
a little more than they meant
to welcome them and say
I
am here with you and
we are here, together

God

the great dream giver
the great dream doer
the one who makes your secret wish come true

who frees you
David
from the rock

to stand in shining glory
naked, uncontained

what poems can do 2

poems take you back ten years
show you who you always were
poems show the world your
friends your loves and crushes
all the bastards all the boys

poems sit and wait for you
to hear them see them notice them

for that moment when they sing
off your lips, when you say

This is my poem.

and goddamn
I have to write it

buzzfeed said

in lieu of new work,

please accept this poem by Elizabeth Bishop:

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.