so i lied....i lie all the time....well no, not really

but here's a poem
from post-being in new york city (and i hear 'neeeeew yooooork cityyyy!?' like from those old salsa commercials, don't you?)

Freedom in the Past Tense

He is looking his friend in the eye
and thinking 'I can do anything'
in the past tense.

He is traveling to not-home
visiting new brickwork and letting go
when realizes that there can be love
without pain, misery
and closeness do not equate. Unlike directions,
one does not need the other to exist

in the past tense.
He is dreaming of being boarded up in his family house,
unable to call out, unable to remove
the screen from the window, the shackle
from each ventricle, each leaky valve.
He is recognizing the lines in his flesh, reading
that he is not so hard, hope
remains. Even within a scorched heart,
tenses have been known to change.