Two random poems

My Little Green Book ended up at the office today, so I thought I'd post something old and something new. I'm not a poet by any definition ... just a silly, lost editor with fragmented thoughts that don't always translate well into prose. So, you know, don't be too critical, k?

This is from October 1998. I remember that time so vividly, because I felt free from convention for the first time in my life ... and I was very unsure of myself. I wanted reassurance and direction. This is raw, like I was at the time.

Teacher
If I were to lay down at your side
Naked in my own disillusionment
And touch you with white desire
Thinking you no worse than the altar gods
in their kimono-wisdom ...

If I were to be your sister-mother-friend,
Soft and hard and old and young,
And never notice you weren't perfection
Or try to take away your rough intensity
And gold-grey anticipation ...

If I were to watch you rise up beside me
With an air of gently rushing echo
And ask you to teach me to be like you,
To cry and laugh and swallow my fears,
Would you stroke the animal within
These prison breasts and dirty cunt?

Yeah. Like I said, raw. The other one is about a friend named Matt, whom I worked with in college. We used to put the paper to bed, then drive around the city aimlessly. I always appreciated that there was no undercurrent with us, that we were just sounding boards for each other's ideas. He's still my go-to guy when I need a male opinion other than Paul's. ::grins::

Driving
Over the east horizon
an ecru moon stumbles,
soft rays catching on trees, then
dripping, pooling onto sidewalks
and shoulders.
You're at the wheel -- that is the custom --
as we travel Nowhere-In-Particular
looking for pieces of ourselves.
Your cigarette smoke catches in my throat
and I trip over my
Self-Proclaimed Awareness
so loudly that even Ella and Basie
can't drown out words I don't understand
speaking in a voice I don't recognize.
But you'll have me home safe and sound
before the moon is overhead,
and I'll watch from my third-story window
as it tiptoes over the western skyline,
wondering if my secrets would be safe
if Morning found my voice
plastered to your dusty dashboard.

Th-th-th-that's all folks. You may now return to your regularly scheduled (non-poetic) blogging. :-)