Oh, and thank you Dina, for being the amazing friend you always are. Te dua shume!

Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have finally finished my essays and application to Bryant College. I rock, and I rock hard.

Still in a bad mood though.

Ignore me tonight, I'm a little off.

If I could write you something
as complicated as calico cats
(shy as genes receding)
I would
find a way to make this
as delicate as dust
across the surface
of an imperfect planet
indented from impact
with the interstellar
I would
make this as flat
as planes or as straight
as lines if I knew how
to beat all the times
to run a perfect mile
four bloodless
breathless revolutions
drawn to a point
and set to dance
all along the head
of a stainless steel pin
but all I can draw
are curves
and all I can paint
are squares
so that you will have to settle
for rudely crafted circles
full of poorly painted squares
a child\'s scribble
in place of the long elegance
of ells and effs
the crude scribble
of subway walls
and bathroom stalls
the disjointed syntax of prophets
and liars where the well paced words
of poets and lyres might do just as well
or better

What do I have to offer in return?
with hands as bare as beggars
and soft as speechless children?
Nothing but the attention
of a ragged dreamer
red rimmed eyes scheming for sleep
the voice of a painter learning to sing
because he never had eyes for color
or money for paint
and the metal heart of a machine
learning how to hurt again

I heard it first
the delicate sound of disaster
and the desiccation of dying as the first fell
in unforgiving imitation of the rain

I stood silently, hands raised to heaven
but could not catch a single one
pale stars passing, intimate until even
then only the anonymity of distance
and the speed of weight and shape

My heart caught the rhythm
a simple stutter in imitation whisper
then faster to the patter of bones and blood against the ground
below
beating to match the fall of bodies
until it burst and bled
til bleeding came burning
and I could not bear to stand
I bent my legs, broke my lips
and breathed out smoke in prayer
the thickening issue of my consuming heart
wet wavering tongues licking at my lungs
keeping me from breath and sleep and dream

I laid for three days and burned
a paper lantern against the sky where they fell
berries withered by summer sun
There was only the pillar of smoke
and the taste of ash and blood
without pause or promised end

On the third day from the smoke
emerged a red winged bird
feathers, fire, and diamond eyes
It stood and beckoned
bended neck round as pitchers pouring
to carry me finally home
I stood and swallowed
my tongue and ruined teeth
reached into the fire
and pulled myself into the flame
It raised its head simply as sunrise
unrolled its wings, swept through the stars
into the distance between heaven and here

In distance there is no time, only burning
and the slow motion of stars against a sky that does not break

I woke the midst of golden glory
gates and a garden wall
to keep the dead from seeing
But we were through golden gates
into the city in the sky
past the lines of mumbling mad
stuttering equations of indefinite divinity
amongst themselves

Inside ranks of angels waited
humming haunted harmonies
aching with the complexity of perfection
and the purity of immaculate construction
seeking to find flaw, and know the joy of falling

We passed pairs of priests playing chess
and checkers, arguing who should be black
this time around
into the center of the city
to the temple in the city
where the Madonna held her child
a curled black comma against strict lines of stairs
crying softly to herself
afraid of letting go again
into the temple, piercing the transparent skin of God
like crossing water to slow and set softly down
I stepped against the holy floor
and the bird collapsed to ash

Here
where the air held motion for a moment
a memory of where I had been
Here, where god was
if god was to be anywhere
Here, the concentration of being and belief
Here, the sense of attention
focus for the boy with the dissolving bird
I spoke but had no tongue for definition or division
no method but my hands
to describe the descent of the dying
There was only my charred heart
and the weight of my wordless prayer
I took them in my hands
and knelt to press them against the heart of god
then bowed and turned and left
leaving them to be understood
if only incompletely