dangers

Dangerous Territory

I’ve been swimming in the deep end lately.

My head is spinning in circles.

My heart had never been so hollow on the inside.

I need to catch my breath before I do anything else stupid.

 

My work of art is an escape from uniformity.

I felt safe with you for the time being.

At the end of the week, you cuddled me

When the sergeant had an off day at work and took it out on me.

 

I let you in like I did when I meet new people.

You were happy for me when I told you I finally found love.

I wanted nothing more than a friend’s reassurance that everything will be okay.

But you in particular were a land mine waiting to explode.

 

It’s dangerous territory where you’re from as a queer.

It’s dangerous territory where I lurk on the web.

It’s dangerous territory to build a world without receiving adequate training.

It’s dangerous territory to make friends with volatile people like you.

 

I can barely read script in Delphi without misinterpreting some if not most of its passages.

My art isn’t like what you’d expect to see in other do-it-yourself or high-profile projects.

The way I write, the way I archive, and the way I distribute information is my strongest suit.

There is no way I can fulfill my goal in life alone without the help of a team that knows its stuff.

 

You didn’t have to sugarcoat your advice to fix my problems

But you didn’t have to pull more than my teeth either.

You spoke to me as if I had to know every damn trick in the book.

You pointed out where I went wrong as if I didn’t already understand it.

 

I would have welcomed your advice if you watched your language.

I would have been more considerate if we joined forces as planned.

But being friendly with you in light of this is just out of question.

You can say that I’m high all you want, but it goes to show that you’re smaller than you think.

 

It’s dangerous territory where you’re from as a queer.

It’s dangerous territory where I lurk on the web.

It’s dangerous territory to build a world without receiving adequate training.

It’s dangerous territory to make friends with volatile people like you.

 

A vagabond told me this morning that I don’t learn much from success

And boy, I sure did learn a lot about your character more than what it takes to be top dog.

I might also let it slip that you exploded in my face because your little rant was all over the place.

In that case, riddle me this, who among the two of us really needs room for improvement?

The Poet

No, the poet does not strive to "make 
the reader understand." The reader (that 
intangible abstraction) cannot mold

the poet's path, the poem which, of itself, 
is born upon the page, chasing nothing 
but its own sweet dream. It is I, tangible, 

individual reader, who must rise 
to exigencies the poem dares me 
try and find significant—it is I, 

always I, must climb the heights the poem 
lures me climb, with all due dangers posed, 
all delights unveiled before my eyes,

until finally I have found the path, and made
myself worthy of the poem's infinite beauty 
and deep significance.

It is then the poem will open up its calyx,
give off its fragrance and sweet scent,
to transform our lives with unspeakable,
sublime Wonder.