I think right now

I’ll willingly fall into some sort of bad

habit

drunk and high, too drunk and too high

to make anything out of anything

Just, “Fuck it all”

I’ll say

as I sleep with my fathers shoes on

Oh, how they fit so well, yet

so much wiggle room

-By Arthur Morales

Place your hand upon her shoulder

Tell her you love her

All of her, not just the happy parts

But the sad parts, the lonely parts

The crazy, unreasonable parts

Tell her how you feel about her

Stomach and chubby cheeks

That no softer cloud exists

Upon which you wish

To lay your love upon

Cause love upon a rock is not love at all

Love is soft if measured

And it’s measured at great extent

But have heart, prepare

For like clouds

Love may disappear

But come again when least expected

So expect it

Lay out your best suit and tie

Dress for cloudy days

And don’t worry about the rain

-By Arthur Morales

Lover, though not lover

I am in constant awe of your grace and smile lines

The way you look down to examine mundane artifacts on a table

The way your hips sway, the way your hips sway

Lover, though not lover

May you one day see in me the things I see in you

The things I knew, such is seeing

That since day one

You’d both be the beginning and the end of a lonely wave

Lover, though not lover

 Love me

-By Arthur Morales

My life

A nebulous blob of nothing

In the grand scheme of things

Is

A beautiful breeze

-By Arthur Morales

Inside the house

I swear by mother’s milk

That all is beautiful

The walls may be chipped wood

Stained with dog piss

But they hold together well

Inside the house

The walls scream back at each other

Verb by verb

Insult upon compliment

And I can feel the foundation tremble

Inside the house

The blankets tucked into beds

Patched up

Stitches

Yet, better

The beds lay bare

Inside the house

The child wanders from room to room

Crying for meaning

Stopping only to play with toys

And outside the house

The corner house of Yasmin Street

Passerby’s point and shudder

“What an ugly fucking house!”

Yet

Inside the house

A child laughs and sings

Quite content

Yes, you see

But people light fires

Telling that house that it could no longer

Be 

-Arthur Morales