sometimes i scribble poems in my notebook

here are two (i'm totally blowing up the blog today):

ask not of me your questions
dear scarecrow
you've been away
too many dog years long
tales told and tongues wagged.
The leash yanked
by too many masters
and shed
and brushed off
the carpet
that we bought
for half price
or maybe inherited
from Aunt Linda

I travel the tracks
they clack bang
rumbling with 10:30 hunger
so many people
don't see it happen
don't smell the perfume
don't know cologne.
If harmony's prize was finally won,
would it really be as nice
as checking the mail,
waiting for it to come?

***

What if
we could love
the way we hoped
not just
the way things happened:
justifiedly cruel
in its raving madness
of slamming doors
and throaty screams
dreaming of self
realized
actualized
reality
that can't be demolished
by running away,
that isn't afraid of
dark alleys,
of getting burnt
by 100 watt bulbs
swinging in the smoke.
What if hearts
didn't need covert cover
didn't speak in code
or throw their gang signs-
forboding and forbidden.
If we never waiting
with baited breath
for answers to questions ne'er asked
would/could we hope for the best
or still expect the worst?