Before the Sunne Risinge

What thinkers failed to see
when they said she's all states
and all princes, he,
that naught else be,
is that the "she" we see
in elegantly composed love poetry
is quite the wrong lady
for, dear poets, you shall see
that the woman who all states be
is the realm in which you'll find me.
I may be all princes, aye,
but without her loving hand
and roving eye
I'd be nothing more than a guy
with tracts and tracts of swamp.
For, what's a prince with no land?
What's a marriage with no hand?
What's a woman with no man?
A queen, Elizabeth, for one,
Alexandra is the other in the span
of histories and mysteries
who surpasses your system of princes
and states. She all lands is,
and I, all tenants be.

Insomnia

There's been a cheap plastic nozzle
gripped firmly by your chawing
nervous teeth, made unquiet
by too much insomnia and
Colombian roast (which is best,
after all) while your breath
condenses on the cherrywood
that you clutch in your hand like you're
some kind of academic. This pipe
is filled with a crack you can't
stop can't catch can't
buy on the streets. Give me a light
and see if I burn the night
sky fuckin' high, like a
deconstructionist rocket in flight
while I play Boggle with myself
and grin 'cos I just fuckin' won.
In just under 2.5 I'll be
on the streets, under
those lamplights, and some speedy
Gonzalez is gonna blow smoke
in my face and say hey
little man
ain't you out kinda late?