life in a closet

“You’re a bit of a closet hippie,
aren’t you?” she knowingly asked,
and I keenly delighted in the concept.

“Oh yes, I am a closet many things,
dully predictable in my malicious intent
sparing you the embarrassing details,” I confessed.

I am a proudly bitter liberal
who deeply longs for conservative stability
and something approaching warm tradition.

I expound upon Shakespeare
and salivate over unrestrained cummings,
yet miss my heady days reading comic books.

Once deemed a semi-devout Muslim
by some, I harbor devotion to Brighid
while blissfully exalting the tallest of trees.

By day I am a severe academic
too timid to partake of true passion,
yet pen romance novels in the dark of night.

Beneath the skin of this American,
an alcoholic Scotsman sleeps one off
while fatuously dreaming of conquering England.

The bulk of my identity crouches
excitedly in a bare unadorned closet
tight and erect, sniffing musk-scented oils.

The perpetually unknown core of me
screams for attention in throaty whispers
yet trembles that I might actually get caught.

My closet is a palace of fantasies,
perversely composed by Sigmund Freud
while disappointed Jung looks on in despair.

reflections

the third rock that i threw
frightened me most of all
the vehemence of it
the jagged waves rippling out
and in like fangs bared

and when the water grew still
on bended knee i peered within
and saw a sullen dwarf
babbling about babies and trees
with a lisp that tore my soul

i wept at the sight and sound
of my self so poorly patterned
that i could wander naked
through each day unseen, unheard
amusing to a fault

me

there is this me who
too keenly sees the
distinctive moments
between my yesterdays
and our finest todays

you have seen him too
heard his doubtful cries
the whying whines
evoking a consistency of
hopeless demeanings

and yet only you have seen
more, beyond this deeming
this perilous seeming
perceiving a me more duly
more truly conceived

and in your believing am I
not so richly adorned
nor indeed a prince of men
but me—just me as I am
with all my faults and fears

yet still desired by you and so
somehow worthy of your heart
am I more perfectly me
in being loved by you I become
the man I truly wish to be

c’est la vie

when they first eager asked me
about my religious persuasion
i must admit i was quite
tempted to wholly confess

i am a devotedly impenitent christian
a heartily unmerciful muslim
a fiercely monotheist hindu
and a slothfully unobservant jew

i am the most impatient buddhist
you may ever encounter
an egregiously unimaginative shaman
a chaotically imbalanced animist

shamelessly i imbibe a fruity wine
and guzzle a heady dark beer
and don’t even get me started
on the joys of a good schnitzel

in polite company i smiling strive
to maintain a decency i lack
while counterfeiting a selfless demeanor
that i do truly abhor

when i with heartiest aspiration
your hand in mine do take
or a kiss to your cheek convey
beware of my roaming hands

cross me and i with callous calm
will curse the day of your birth
not unlike how frequently i have
found cause to curse my own

truth be told
when it comes to piety
i’m a bit crap
c’est la fecking vie