Sweet Potato Haircut

We make altars of the people we love
lightning bugs and bookshelves
faces frozen in print
and ink and tree skins
they are just paper in frame
with faces we love
faces with lips moving elsewhere
or not at all
and eyes seeing the sights
of somewhere else.

I wish I didn’t want to write sad love poems
anymore but they seep from rebel
or psychotic mind
free from regulated creativity
to echo the aches of my heart
my soul talk
my listening inside insights.

Harney and Sons is my favorite tea
Organic bangkok,
nourish me.
I’ll offer an apology
when I read a eulogy
of someone that I’ve known
and hopefully I’ll see
the lifeline of my worry
as a crutch
that I can relinquish
to the sea

to just be free.