we'll go dutch ©

an intangible sort of thing,
colorless it would seem
and probably kind of hazy.
a soul's the kind of thing we can't recognize - lazy
is what we are.
a little bit sleepy; dormant
and usually i'm all for it,
until the day you helped mine wake up

tick tock ring clink alarm buzz,
i'm a little buzzed
punch drunk love drunk,
hangover in the best possible way.
head pounding, thumping; heart ringing, buzzing
or is it the other way around?

i'm in a circle,
spinning, berserk -
pin the tail on the soulmate
and i'm always a little to the left.
hard left, go left, zig left, zag right.
just out of reach, but damn it,
one day i'll be dead-on
head-on, right-on, heart-on
brain so off.
lazy sunday rain is what you are
sunshine's a little trite
and we both love that sweet water taste.
i never could keep track of an umbrella

it's not even dependent on your body, this soul.
it's got a mind and heart and plans of its own
but not a shred of common sense -
it picked you.
saw you, chose you, called you: DIBS!
and wham bam, thanks ma'am, for the consideration.
and here we are, stuck
fucked
love drunk still, no one sober enough to drive
"who cares, we'll lay down here, sleep it off,
the grass is soft,
and i'd kind of like a nap."
your soul's a rebel, not a care on its mind
except my mind, sometimes, and it makes me kind of dizzy.
fingers link, no time to think,
helluva time for rationale.
my soul's made plans
even if i've got other plans
and no where have i pencilled in "soulmate other half".
ah hell, oh well, you can have the other half
of my heart.
i've already cut it in two, and we'll go dutch
i don't need to keep much
here, you can have the big half

okay, deep breath, ready?
arms out, brains off, spin free, hands free
love bluetooth, "can you hear me now?"
good.
"hello, true love."

© ag 11/12

..

love jones ©

quick fix, my heart slips
into my belly and back again
and sometimes it stops altogether.
however, it's rainy, this weather
the kind of thunderstorms you like
and i like, we both like, and sometimes
it drowns me, but only when you surround me

and it's the sweetest water taste

crack cocaine in liquid shape and
i want it in my veins, you in my veins
making me float,
helping me fly, showing me just how high
brains can drift, when my heart drifts,
and usually it bumps into yours

"hi there, how are you?" it says,
but it's got a twitch, like it needs a hit
and you're my tambourine man.
shy smile, quick wink, a look that makes me think
you have what i need, and if i've got the goods
you'll slide some to me

sweaty palm, furtive arm, fingers touch
and it's electric.
zaps from you right into me,
and i can see the sparks, they make my heart
light up in flickers like a street lamp
under the mist where we kiss
and you can see songs in the air like fog.
i want us to dance to the tunes that light up

fireflies in c minor

thanks for the fire, i can't wait to ingest.
"you're welcome, ma'am, glad to be of service."
your heart's well spoken and kind of smooth
it's kind of cocky, not striated like the rest of you.
sweet pleasure pain into my vein,
good hurt, love bad, bad love, baby love.
but this moment's better than all the rest
a free floating interstitial plasma in my chest
and you make me kind of light headed.
a little bit dizzy, because my mojo is in overtime, busy.
but my feet won't move.
i can see you walking off, back into the night
a hooded apparition with a swagger
a thought that makes me stagger - in the most beautiful way.
but this is a high you can't ride alone
i need you there when i float back home

because down isn't really down if it's where you are

whatever souls are made of,
yours and mine are the same.
same fears, same love, same both made of
this euphoria you give me in your palm.
pure unadulterated happiness
you carry in your bag.
we're sprung in the thick of love,
right in the midst of it , love
and already i'm jonesing for the next

please don't go

slide your carpals back this way, find a home in mine,
they've been waiting for you for a long time,
all along.
this head turning spinning journey is
better for two.
i'll hold your reservations, as long as it takes
everything in me makes

my heart scream, "Love Jones, Party of Two."

© ag 8.22.07

..

wide eyed ©

hey there sunshine.
three silly little words
like three little birds
bob marley always did make me smile
and baby I love your way.

you sing me sweet songs
of melodies pure and true
but only in the wee small hours
of the morning.

the time I like best with you,
wide awake with you,
soul awakes with you
and only you make it happen.
energy makes caffeine shakes
wide eyed love jitters, mouth chitter
chatters - baby lets never sleep.

I can't bear to think
of a sigh, a smile, a frown, a wink
a funny face I might miss.
I love how everything makes you laugh.

light up bright eyes
only-for-you eyes
and you'll probably never realize,
real eyes, that you have laugh lines.

love struck, dumb struck, heart struck
gone.
watch that first stanza, its a doozy.
here, I wrote you a song.





© ag 7.08

I wrote this, and it comes from my own experiences, my own heart, and what I see and have seen.





The Importance of Perception:


To you, they are monsters. Vicious killers, baby eaters, blood-thirsty mongrels with an insatiable lust for violence. They maul children and attack the elderly. They are uncontrollable, unpredictable beasts fit for no civilized man, and would as soon tear out your throat as look at you. You know this because the news tells you so.

To me, they are family. Gentle hearts, class clowns, love-hungry animals with a craving for human affection. They adore children and can sense the frailty of the elderly. They are sweet, intelligent creatures fit for only the most loving families, and would as soon follow you to the gates of Hell as to your bed at night – as long as they are with you. I know this because I see it every day.

You see "pit bulls" on the television, and condemn them all as monsters unlike any other dog, a supernatural predator with a thirst for human flesh. I see them every day, in person, and know them as big-hearted goofs with a soft spot for belly rubs.

I have seen a pit bull starved almost to death, in hopes that it would make her meaner. I have seen this same dog lovingly kiss the hand of a toddler who stole her bone. I have seen a pit bull covered in fighting scars, whose body was a grisly tell-tale map of her life of forced violence. I have seen this same dog snuggle with a child under Hello Kitty covers. You see a dog that cannot be trusted around children. I know a dog that keeps the boogie-man and monsters away.

You, with all your "experience" gained from television, know of a dog that is a demon. I, with experienced gained through tears and time, know a dog that is a guardian angel.

You can look at what you know as a "pit bull" and call it ugly, and evil. I can look at the same dog, and call it mine.

I have held a pit bull whose body was sore and frail with the effort of many forced litters, whose skin was raw with infection and mange, whose muscles ached from lack of nutrition, and whose heart was broken from lack of love – and who looked at me with big, swimming eyes, shining with the dichotomy of misery and appreciation, as only the abused can. You saw a mangy cur that you were quick to yank your own precious dog away from, with cries of outrage and fear, lest your baby be hurt.

I saw your own precious dog, your dear sweet Spaniel, turn and bite your hand with a warning growl, and I saw the blood you were quick to wipe away, and heard the excuses you were quicker to make.

But while you were making those excuses, you didn't see the pained pit bull look at YOU with misery, because had you bothered to show her love, she never would have shown you anything but love and appreciation. I saw the aching pit bull look at you with misery, because even though you showed her nothing but disdain and hatred, she still never would have shown you anything but love. I held her aching body there on that cold floor, and told her that I loved her.

You tell your children not to startle the dog, so they don't get bitten. I have seen children lift the lips of a sleeping pit bull to peer at their teeth, and come away shiny with kisses.

You tell your children not to take toys away from the dog, it doesn't like to share. I have seen children and dogs share toys and adventures in my home. I have seen children and pit bulls share secrets in a language I am too old to understand.

The vicious fighting pit bulls you would condemn to death, I would nurse back to health and vitality. While you "know" they are untrustworthy and unstable, I know they are intelligent and forgiving.

While your dog couldn't be bothered, because it was sleeping or didn't want to share, mine kept a child warm on a winter night, and would spend its last breath giving to the ones it loves.

I have watched pit bulls, broken and abused, whose almost-human eyes convey a sense of mortal agony, writhe in pain – while they lick the hand that sets their fractured bones.

I have watched these same pit bulls, after rehabilitation, walk among the sick and the dying, and offer comfort and affection to those who had none. These mongrels who fought for their lives because they had no other choice, lie with cancerous children, and with every fiber of their beings, fight to convey the love and affection they need so desperately to give.

I see these "beasts" you so despise for their ferocity, gently maneuver their bodies around small children, balancing precariously in awkward positions so as not to knock over any little ones, but make sure to include themselves in the activity. I have seen my own pit bull wait patiently for hours in a nest of clothes that smell like me, anxiously awaiting my return.

You wake up to the morning news reports of another vicious "pit bull" wreaking havoc again, and you shake your head and wonder who would want to be involved with such dangerous heathens. I have been faithfully awoken, with more consistency than the rising sun, by my own beam of light – wiggling, wagging, and in absolute rapture to greet me each day.

So you see, you're right – we do not, in fact, know the same dogs.

You are not lucky enough to see what I see, or to know what I know.





-ag 5/23/08