I wonder about the tea called peace
you know the one in the can
my favorite flavor is sweet lemon
i wonder about it's heft and might
the atoms of tea trapped in the can
begging and begging to be set free
free from the real and free from the unreal
do the manufacturers know about me?
who is the manufacturer?
some guy?
is there even a guy?
well hello there!
some guy
I'm henry
I think your drink is pretty good
I can't help but wonder though about the leaves
you know that's where tea comes from
anyway I have a question for you Mr. Some Guy
if that even is your real name
do you take into account how heavy the can of tea is?
cause it feels nice
a reassuring bundle of matter that says "I take up space"
but it's kind of gross
you know?
the amount of liquid you want me to pour into my stomach
and for that liquid to say "I cost 1.49 at the 7/11"
any ways Mr. Guy,
I just wanted to say thanks

The sky is beautiful tonight
Lavender, salmon, and pink like blushing when someone says they love you
But it's already gone
No one will ever see the colors I just saw
And I feel like blushing
Embarrassed due to long standing aversions to sincerity
5:26 PM

From where I sit at my desk at the gym
The sky is 2 different creatures
On one side
A blood orange backlight is cut and cracked by black naked trees
On the other side
The clouds shift and bubble like fresh squeezed blackberry soda
4 guys from the basketball team practice their 3 point shots
5:51 PM

verily as i sit here
an exercise in automatic writing
in the vain of all those dada artists before me
i sit
and compose
and i wonder
oh how lucky i am
that amongst the marvel of the present
amidst the bone and sinew of my hand
i possess still the ability to type
and to see the beauty
in the real and in the unreal
like those many in my past
oh how lucky i am
and i wonder
just how many before me have loved
in that same way that only i
have loved
loved the feeling of fingers and keyboards
and of cookies in my mouth
and of music in my ears
oh how lucky i am
to be in love
with a woman
a woman as real as me and you
and although she is not here
with me
in this moment
she exists as i imagine her
like the fleeting image of a siren in the sea spray
and i write
oh how lucky i am
and i gaze past my bare legs onto the floor
the floor of my room and i wonder
oh how lucky i am
oh how lucky i am
in love with the image of a coke can
like so many andy warhols before me
and i stare into his sunglasses
on the poster next to my bed
that i got at the art institute of chicago
and i wonder
oh how lucky i am

The horizon took a smoke break at sunset
And 7 hours later she's still gone
No doubt sleeping with the breeze
I stand on the deck in the darkness
Leaning forward
My hands on the rail
Gazing at the infinite mirror, reflecting
The air is as still and cold as the water
Just like the man next to me
He sighs but no vapor forms
He's cloaked in a blue shadow
Like the bottom of the ocean
A darker blue I've never seen
But in a voice clear as ice he asks
'Do you love me?'
I nod
'Not talking tonight?'
I nod
He rests his stygian blue fingers
On the back of my moon-light hand
And we kiss
Enjoying each other
Until the sun clocks in in the morning

Water flows across the forest floor
Slicking the moss and pebbles and earth

We dart above the shimmering surface
Shooting winks and diving for the minnows

We can't normally sing but today
We produce such a tune that the
Cardinals and sparrows and blue jays all listen
To our duet in C major

And even the wind stops stirring up
The clouds in the sky so as not to interrupt

For 3 days we soar and swoop and sing
And it could make up for 50 years

Whenever I went to the beach as a kid
I would count and number the lizards that scampered on the porch
They were like napkins dropped from the hand of someone hurrying down the street
After delaying their commute for a pastry
I wonder years later
Was ever a lizard counted twice?

I can’t help but number every poem I’ve ever written
As a kid I counted everything
Every time I clapped at a school assembly I clapped the same amount:
25 claps every time. I couldn’t stop myself
Children of divorce count more I think
I counted all my Christmases
One with mom, mom’s mom, dad, dad’s mom, and dad’s dad
5 every year

Looking at anything in a self-referential series is like living in liquid glass
Transparent but warped and shifting
The path taken is obvious but misguided
But the numbering freezes time
My first poem about numbering was how I felt then
This is how I feel now
Evolution

‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the homeless, old man begging for change
On the green line station me and my friends get off at to buy coffee
He turns and looks at us
‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the toothless, old man on that cold winter night
As we preemptively pull out our phones and look down at the ground
A defense mechanism
‘I ain’t tired!’ yells the hobbling, old man as we pass him by
Without making eye contact or even a sympathetic nod
If only I had cash on me
‘I ain’t tired!’ repeats the mentally ill, old man while we descend
The stairs down onto the pavement and into Chinatown
The snow continues falling
‘I ain’t tired!’ echoes the starving, old man
His voice ringing in my ears long since we’d left ear shot
The only time I had the courage to glance at him
He was a mess of wires and bone and cloth and paint and white hair
Older than the city I had just begun to explore and call home
Permanently on that train station yelling
‘I ain’t tired!’
‘I ain’t tired!’
‘I ain’t tired!’